


Not Your Hero

by cab



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Art, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, M/M, art class, character growth, idek, like really slow burn, mostly canon-compliant, post-season two, slow burn sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-09
Updated: 2013-03-30
Packaged: 2017-11-28 19:00:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 51,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/677796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cab/pseuds/cab
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following Gerard's takedown and Jackson's resurrection, things settle down in Beacon Hills for the packs. With Stiles, Scott and Isaac left at home for the summer while most everyone else goes their separate ways for two months, Stiles signs up for an art class during the week and that's where things get interesting...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "Standing where I am now, standing up at all"

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so this is my first try at writing Sterek, so just a few things:
> 
> -I don't really know how to tag this fucking thing so it remains at PG-13 to be safe until I deem it worthy to upgrade it or downgrade it or edit it to fit. We're all mature folks here, I hope ;)  
> -Title from Tegan and Sara's song, "I'm Not Your Hero" cause of reasons.  
> -I hope you enjoy and I hope I don't regret this

It all starts on the first day of summer vacation. It’d been weeks since the showdown with Gerard and Jackson’s metamorphosis/death/reincarnation and things were settling down to a dull buzz with supernatural. A feeling that, while nothing was actively happening, it didn’t just disappear but fade to the background of your mind. There was lacrosse practice nearly every day, which kept Stiles and Scott busy, for the most part. Everything seemed normal, for the first time in months. Honestly, that was more than Stiles could ask for. He was beginning to forget what it had been like to be a real teenage boy and not a werewolf chew toy or a hunter’s punching bag.

Scott was pulling more hours at the clinic with newly employed Isaac while Stiles was searching for job himself (animals weren’t really his thing now that he spent 90 percent of his time with werewolves). Allison and her dad had gone to see extended family for the summer to bond (and damn if that didn’t put anyone on edge, but Scott had talked to Allison about it and she said this extended family wasn’t involved in hunting, which was something her dad was aiming for so). Lydia and Danny were also gone for the summer with Jackson, who was settling in in Boston and apparently with a new pack. Relocating was his parents’ way of dealing with the scandal that had taken over the Whittemores’ lives following Jackson’s “death”. 

And according to Isaac, Erica and Boyd still hadn’t been heard from since that night they were captured, either, but they were definitely no longer with the Argents. He said their scent just vanished from Beacon Hills altogether, looking miserable as he told Scott and Stiles. It couldn’t be easy being alone again and Derek wasn’t exactly father figure of the year. Peter was still around, apparently, lurking around the shell of the Hale manor and creeping the hell out of the wildlife (and Isaac). When Isaac mentioned that Derek was quieter than he’d ever been but wasn’t moping around the train station or the manor, Scott just acknowledged the information with a stiff nod. 

Stiles wanted to ask more but there were things that he still didn’t know about the night they took down Gerard and one of those things is exactly how they took down Gerard. He had asked, sure, but Scott had made a pained face and simply told him that “what was done, was done” and that he didn’t want to talk about it. Which Stiles could respect. Mostly. Not really, but Stiles hadn’t exactly spilled about being held captive and having been tortured, so who was he to judge on honesty? Hell he wasn’t ever winning any awards in that department with his dad, who had regained status as sheriff, but still couldn’t quite look his son in the eye. 

Stiles couldn’t deny he was envious of the clear air between Scott and his mom about the world they’d stumbled onto in the past couple months but he refused to reveal it all to his dad. Everything may have been calm at the moment, but that didn’t mean that there wasn’t a storm brewing somewhere on the horizon. His dad would not be dragged into this world if Stiles had anything to say about it. But sitting around at the house all day, waiting for a call back for a job just wasn’t going to cut it. Which is how it really all began on the first day of summer vacation.

“But he’s God now!” Stiles exclaimed, gesturing out with his hands like the weight of his words would slap Scott in the face. “You heard him and he made Sam and Dean bow! How the hell do you kill God? And we have to wait until September to find out! That’s forever away!”

They were walking through town, looking for a place for late lunch after lacrosse practice. The afternoon sun and exerted muscles were doing nothing to deter Stiles’ energy, though Scott seemed bemused at the conversation.

“Dude?” Stiles said, bumping shoulders with him.

“Hmm?” Scott looked over at him and realized Stiles had been talking to him.

“Sorry, man. You know they’ll find some way to take him down. I kinda stopped paying attention cause this season kinda sucked.”

“You alright?” He chose to ignore the comment about the show because disparaging remarks about Supernatural was just not okay in his book. 

“Yeah, man, just kinda tired. Did Finstock seem extra… Finstock-y today? Cause I’m actually kinda tired.”

“Maybe he’s just cracking down extra hard on you now that there’s just one captain? Not that that you weren’t kicking ass today.” Stiles gave him a grin. 

“I was, too, I think. Kicking ass.”

“Yeah” Scott resumed moping.

Stiles gave him a sideways glance. “Still haven’t heard from Allison?”

Scott gave him another look, one that was begrudgingly fond and said Stiles was right and he hated him for it.

“I haven’t heard from her in a few days, is all. I’m not expecting us to get back together like, today, or anything but keeping up communication would be nice, you know?” 

“No I don’t” Stiles admitted. 

His only crush was across the country right now with her boyfriend who she was apparently destined to be with forever and ever, amen, if the rules of true love mean anything. 

“But hey, just give her some space, man. She needed to get away from this place for a while and I don’t mean to be a dick, but maybe that means you, too.”

“Yeah, maybe you’re right” Scott said, nodding. “Never thought I’d be wishing there was something going on around here to distract me.”

“No!” Stiles whirled around, jerking a finger in his direction. “No! We do not wish for deadly things with claws and teeth to come looking for us! I’ve had my fill of near-death experiences for the rest of my life, thank you.”

Scott had the decency to look a little bit remorseful. “Sorry, dude.”

“Yeah, yeah” Stiles said, waving it off and jerking his chin toward the ice cream parlor across the street. “BOP’s?”

Scott nodded his agreement. 

“Dude, at least you have a job to go to every day,” Stiles said as they made their way inside the building. “All I have is lacrosse and… well, porn.”

The place was mostly empty inside apart from an elderly couple who recognized him as the Sheriff’s son, waved at Stiles. They took a seat at barstools in front of the counter as Emily, the pretty blonde girl from school who worked there turned to greet them. 

“Hey, guys” she said, grinning. “What can I get for you?”

“Hey, Em” Scott said, giving her a smile in return. “Can I just get a chocolate on a waffle cone?”

“Sure thing” she said. 

“Honestly, you have no imagination” Stiles said, forlornly. “Emily, I will have a triple decker: chocolate, coconut and strawberry.”

“Coming right up, Stiles” she said, laughing. And was that—was that a blush?

Stiles sat gaping after her in shock as Emily turned to fill their orders.

“So no jobs turning out just yet?” Scott asked, interrupting Stiles’ reverie. 

Stiles looked at him to see if he’d noticed Emily but his phone had him distracted, which was probably something to do with Allison. Stiles had to refrain from rolling his eyes and commenting on Scott only having two settings: food or Allison.

Stiles scoffed. “No. The librarian still hates me from when we knocked over--”

“You knocked over”

“—I knocked over that bookshelf. And the dude from the hardware store was totally afraid to let me work there. Too many saws and stuff.” He mimed what had to be a skill-sawing motion across his forearm. He blew out a sigh and Scott patted him on the back. 

“You’ll find something, dude.”

“Yeah” Stiles agreed noncommittally. “Til then, though, I’ve gotta find something to do with my life.”

“You mean besides jack off all day?” Scott said, snorting a laugh. 

Stiles opened his mouth to retort but found that Emily was back with their order and was indeed blushing profusely this time, but because she’d heard what Scott said. Stiles hated his life.

“Your orders” she said, simply with a shy smile and handed Scott his cone while pushing Stiles’ bowl across the counter. She walked away hurriedly and Stiles turned a glare onto his best friend and punching him in the arm.

Scott raised his eyebrows in response, “Ow! What?”

“I hate you” Stiles said, without much heat, snatching his bowl of ice cream and a spoon from a dispenser. He laid a few bills down on the counter and hopped off the stool.

Scott followed dutifully behind him on their way out of the parlor, licking at his cone as he went. “Sorry for embarrassing you, dude.”

Stiles shrugged. “Could have been worse, I guess”

“Really?”

“No, I’m going to end up alone forever cause you’re an asshole and you suck” Stiles said flatly. He stuck a heaving spoonful of ice cream in his mouth and glared at his best friend again.

“Sorry” Scott said, once again pulling out the dopey puppy-eyed look he’d perfected. Stiles sighed.

“Come on… you can get your ass kicked in a round of Halo to make me feel better.”

“I can’t” Scott said, somehow still looking guilty while he ate his ice cream. “Isaac said he’d cover for me while we got lunch but I gotta go home and change so I can go in.”

“Man…” Stiles whined.

“You can come by? If you want?”

“And do what? Bug Deaton and watch you guys clean up dog crap?”

Stiles ignored the look Scott was making that seemed to say ‘It’s not like you have anything better to do’.

“I’ll pass, man. But thanks. Say hi to the good doctor and Isaac for me.”

“Sure thing” Scott said. “Oh and by the way?”  
Stiles raised his eyebrows in response, mouth too full with another helping of chocolate, coconut and strawberry.

“That Emily was totally hitting on you. You should ask her out, man” Scott said with a grin before walking away.

Stiles stared after him for a long time, screaming on the inside, before turning and heading down the street. He ate his ice cream and looked into the windows of shops as he made his way toward the police station, figuring he might as well check in with his dad while he was in town. 

The town was strangely empty of teenagers for midday during summer vacation, but then Stiles remembered that people actually had summer jobs and grumbled around a mouthful of ice cream. He glanced into the window of the community center and did a double take when he saw one of many flyers taped to it. He moved closer to read it and smiled determinedly before continuing toward the sheriff’s station.

 

*

“An art class?” the sheriff said, dubiously. 

Stiles nodded, tossing his now empty bowl of ice cream into the trashcan by his dad’s desk. He took a seat across from his dad and propped his feet up until his dad perfunctorily knocked them back down.

“An art class” he repeated.

“Why do you keep saying that?” Stiles said, holding his hands out. “Yes, an art class! I just think it could be fun! I need something to do during the day and this seemed perfect.”

His dad gave him an incredulous look. “You’ve never taken an art class in your life. You chose that awful chorus class as an arts elective in ninth grade!”

“Don’t remind me,” Stiles mumbled, remembering the wonder and then horror that was being the only boy in the group. 

“Not that I didn’t enjoy your performances” his dad hurriedly corrected. “You were the best tenor they had.”

“The only tenor, Dad. And it’s not that I didn’t want to do an art class, I just… couldn’t. Not after mom.”

Realization dawned on the sheriff’s face. “Ah”

The silence between them was awkward and heavy with memories of a woman with brown hair and eyes with a warm smile, sitting on the couch with a sketchbook or at an easel in the living room. Even now they had a painting she did of a meadow at sunset hanging above the mantle of the fireplace. Stiles cleared his throat and threw his dad a smile.

“But I want to try now”

His dad watched him for a moment, as if scrutinizing his face before smiling back and nodding. “Well, okay, then.”

Stiles stood up, grinning and was halfway out the door when his dad said, “Besides, I’d rather you be devoting time to this than listening in on my police scanner.”

Stiles gave him a laugh but didn’t let him see the flinch he made. Despite the fact that Beacon Hills was safe now and his dad had his job back, the air still wasn’t clear between them and comments like that stung. The mistrust was still there though his dad hid it just as well as Stiles hid how much it killed him to keep secrets from him. He mentally shook it off as he walked back out into the bright sunshine and let himself feel excited for starting the class tomorrow. 

*

Stiles woke up a quarter after nine the next morning for his first class, flailing out of bed when he realized that he’d overslept. He’d been up a little late the night before reading up online about different types of painting styles and had fallen asleep sometime after starting on surrealism.

He dashed into the bathroom and showered quickly, pulled on some clean clothes and ran downstairs to grab a pop tart and a bottle of water before he was out the door. By the time he made it into town, he was back on time, but still jittery from nerves and excitement. He made it into the classroom just as everyone was making their way to their seats, brushing crumbs from his shirt as he took a chair at an empty table near the back. A sketchbook, a packet of different sorts of sketching pencils and an eraser was placed at every seat in the room.

The class would meet for five days a week: Monday through Friday, for two hours a day and he had just enough time afterwards to get to school for afternoon lacrosse practice with Scott. It was perfect because now Stiles had a full day throughout the week and weekends to do nothing and if a job cropped up sometimes soon, well, he could work around it.

The teacher was Ms. Wansley, a pretty porcelain-skinned brunette who was also known for her work on productions at the local theatre. She was middle-aged but you couldn’t know unless you already knew her from living in Beacon Hills. She was kind, intelligent and had a voice that Stiles had heard from a few musicals that could have been destined from Broadway at one time. Stiles remembered her from when his mom had been alive, knew they’d been pretty good friends. She walked in and glanced around the room, smiled warmly when he caught her eye. He returned the smile before looking around the room, taking in the other students.

There were four long, sturdy blacktop tables lining the room and forming a square around another table with enough seating available for the twenty or so students, including himself, most of them ranging from middle-aged to senior citizen (mostly senior citizens though). No one was his age, not that he was really complaining. Knowing his luck, he’d get some asshole like Jackson from school or someone who’d end up trying to kill him. Stiles really hoped no one in this class was going to try and kill him.

“Welcome, everyone and thank you for participating in my class” Ms. Wansley said happily, closing the door and thereby signaling the beginning of class. Stiles’ foot had been tapping from the moment he’d sat down and now he had to clasp his hands together to keep the nervous energy from leaking into them. 

“I see some new faces here since yesterday,” she said, clapping her hands together as she stepped further into the room. Her eyes slid over Stiles as she said the words but he didn’t look up from where his eyes had settled on his sketchbook. “So let’s get right down to it. This week and the next, we’ll be working on sketching. In case you’re just now starting today, here’s what you missed…”

The rundown was about 45 minutes on the basic techniques of sketching and Stiles found himself actually interesting in it, despite the fact that he’d spent the whole night before looking up the same stuff. He practiced on his own as she spoke, crosshatched, shaded and stippled on the first page of his sketchbook. Finally, she directed the new students’ attention to the center table that the other students were glancing at now and again. 

“Our first project is going to sound relatively simple: still life” she said, with a flourish of her hand toward the table. It looked as if a stage had been set up beneath a sheet with a random assortment of fruits and simple shapes arranged atop it. “Draw the objects directly in front of you, including the sheet as a background. Use the different techniques of sketching to make your still life look as realistic as possible.”

Stiles was already flipping to a new page on his sketchbook, tongue flicking out to wet his lips as he concentrated on the table in front of him. Yeah, he felt a little ridiculous. How hard could it be to draw some fruit, a bouncy ball and a vase?

“Please remember that this class is somewhat accelerated but if you need help, don’t be afraid to ask for it. You have two weeks on this project and no one is expected to hit the ground running with this.” She finished with a smile, noticing that most people (like Stiles) had already begun while she’d been talking. 

Stiles eyes the pack of pencils, fingers sliding across each one of them until he found one light enough to trace with and set to work. In the next thirty minutes, he had the barest outline of all the items on the table, including the folds of the cloth they were sitting on and he felt pretty satisfied with it all. He didn’t even notice when Ms. Wansley standing right behind him until he heard a soft murmur of approval over his shoulder. He did not jump, startle, flail or any combination of those three (no matter how many people looked up at him with raised eyebrows).

“It’s coming along very nicely, Stiles” she said, low enough that only he could hear. He tried not to be creeped out by an older woman whispering to him, but then remembered who she was and relaxed. He settled even further when she walked away without mentioning his mother. Sympathy wasn’t fun to deal with from anyone and he didn’t want it here.

Stiles glanced at the clock above the whiteboard in the front of the room and cursed quietly when he saw that the class was running over. He jumped up, to the notice of everyone in the room, including Wansley, and collected his things. 

“Oh, I’m afraid we’ve gone over our time limit today” she said, honestly surprised. “We’ll pick this up tomorrow where we left off, make sure to take your sketchbooks with you and don’t forget that your fee is due by the end of this week!”

Stiles heard the instructions as he was hurrying down the hall outside of the classroom. Which is when he caught the familiar back of someone turning the corner at the far end. He practically tripped over his feet in an attempt to catch up and wheezed out the name as he turned the corner.

“Derek?!” 

Sure enough, the guy froze in his attempt to hurry off and Derek slowly turned around to face Stiles, an uncomfortable expression on his face. He was dressed in a typical gray V-neck (this one thankfully clean of blood stains and mud) and an equally pair of tight jeans but surprisingly was wearing a pair of sneakers. Stiles wasn’t deterred, however, from the bitching that was currently spilling uncontrollably from his mouth.

“Oh God, who’s dead?” he groaned, still trying to catch his breath. “It’s Boyd or Erica, isn’t it, they’re back and they’re dead, aren’t they?”

“Stiles—“ Derek said, flinching at the mention of his betas.

“This is just so typical”, he interrupted, pausing to throw his hands up. “I go to an art class and you show up, being the damn black dog omen of my life with bad news—“

Derek scowled. Other people were filling the hall now on their way out, glancing at the two of them curiously as they went. “Stiles, I’m not—“

“Oh God, I didn’t even get to finish my first sketch. Damn it all—“

“Stiles!” Derek snapped. “Nothing’s wrong.”

Stiles blinked at him. “Then why are you here? And don’t even think about trying to kill me, there are witnesses and cameras”. He jerked his finger toward a surveillance camera down the hall to prove his point.

Derek rolled his eyes and turned to go. “Don’t worry about it, Stiles. Later.”

“Wait!” Stiles said, running ahead to stop in front of him. “Are you—are you here for the class?”

Derek, once again, looked uncomfortable, his face pinched like he didn’t want to talk about this. Which, he always looked like that when he had to talk to Stiles, so…

“Wait. Oh my God, really?” Stiles exclaimed before inclining his head. 

“I was late today, so…”

“No I mean, really? You’re taking the art class, too?”

Derek scoffed, making a motion like he was going to put his hands in the pocket of a jacket before aborting it and crossing his arms. “Like you’re some sort of art prodigy?”

“No, I just mean that’s not what I’d expect from you” Stiles said, shrugging. “And I’ll have you know, I’m not bad!”

Derek gave him a disinterested nod, neither agreeing with him nor disputing. “Goodbye, Stiles”

Stiles watched him as he left, shaking his head in annoyance. “Nice seeing you too, Grandmaster Douche” he murmured.

“Heard that” was all he got before the door slammed. At least it wasn’t his head getting slammed this time, he thought. Art class just got a lot more interesting, though.

*

Scott was already at the field by the time Stiles arrived, running drills up and down the bleachers fast enough that if Stiles didn’t know about his supernatural abilities, he’d be crying “steroids”.

“You’re such a show-off!” he yelled as he walked onto the field, duffle bag slung over one shoulder, the afternoon sun already making him sweat underneath his underarmor. 

“And you’re late, dude!” Scott threw back, before front flipping from the middle-most row of bleachers onto the ground in front of Stiles. He straightened with a wide grin on his face at Stiles rolling his eyes. What was it with werewolves and their aversion to stairs? “What took you so long?”

“Oh yeah!” Stiles exclaimed. “Dude, you’re not gonna believe this, I started this art class today—“

“Art class?” Scott said, scrunching his eyebrows. He started walking onto the field as Stiles gathered his stick and checked his gear. “You’re taking classes during the summer?”

“No, it’s at the community center” Stiles said, waving him off. “That’s not the important part, though, dude. Guess who—“

“Oh hey, Isaac’s finally here” Scott said, nodding behind Stiles. 

“Isaac?” Stiles frowned, turned and sure enough, there was Isaac, already geared up and making his way down the field toward him. “You invited him?”

“Yeah, he didn’t have anything else to do today, either and I figured he wouldn’t mind the practice or company” Scott said, simply, shrugging. He waved Isaac over, before turning and glancing at Stiles. “That alright?”

Stiles pushed down the flare of jealousy and disappointment in his gut, kept his heartbeat steady as he spoke, knowing both of them could tell a lie immediately. “Yeah, man. It’s cool.” 

Isaac grinned at them, pulling on a faceguard. “I wanted to see if that lucky streak you pulled in that last game is still going for you, Stilinski”

Scott laughed, gave Stiles a playful push. “From what I hear, that wasn’t luck. Stiles kicked ass!” Stiles pushed him back. 

“Oh hey, what were you saying about your art class?”

“Art class?” Isaac said, raising an eyebrow at Stiles.

Stiles laughed good-naturedly, focusing on keeping himself in check. He wasn’t five years old and Scott wasn’t a toy, he was Stiles’ best friend and Stiles wasn’t going to act like one of those jealous losers who couldn’t stand to share their best friend with anyone else. He just wasn’t.

“Ahh it was nothing” Stiles said, waving them off. “Ready to get your lycanthropic asses kicked?”

Then again, Stiles didn’t have to share everything with Isaac. Plus, it wasn’t like Stiles couldn’t have secrets of his own, right? After all, Scott still had his secrets about that night and Stiles did, too, right? Right? Right.


	2. "I was used to feeling like I was never gonna see myself at the finish line"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek joins the class and Stiles makes it his personal mission to bug the hell out of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, there was actually an entire scene that I took out of this chapter cause it just didn't fit so it'll be in the next chapter. I debated for a whole fifteen minutes about whether or not to take it out and I hope it works without it. Anyways, yeah let me know what you think!
> 
> XO, A.

The next morning, Stiles actually woke up on time and therefore, was able to get up, shower and get dressed at a leisurely pace rather than break his neck trying to get in, get out and get going. Instead of staying up too terribly late on the Internet, he’d stayed up moderately late working in his sketchbook, attempting to draw the random assorted piles of messes he had in his room. He had to admit, he wasn’t too bad at this drawing stuff. There were telltale doodles in the margins of his class notes from when he got distracted, but he’d never actually tried to draw anything. 

He’d gotten downstairs before his dad had left for work, sitting at the kitchen table with a mug of coffee in one hand and a microwaved bagel in the other, that morning’s newspaper spread out in front of him. Stiles nodded his way when he walked in, hummed his approval as he snagged one already warm and waiting on a plate beside the microwave. His dad rolled his eyes at him as he pulled milk from the fridge, drank straight from the jug, already past the stage where he scolded Stiles for it anymore.

“What?” Stiles said defensively. “It’s almost empty, I’m saving time and water.”

“Yes, you’re very efficient, son.” His dad said, shaking his head before taking a sip of coffee. “Art class again today?”

“Yep” Stiles said, taking a seat across from his dad with his bagel and carton of milk. “It’s really awesome, actually. I don’t have any problems focusing on what we’re doing. Oh and you remember Ms. Wansley?”

His dad scrunched up his face in thought, chewing on a mouthful of bagel. “Sandra Wansley? Your mother’s friend from high school?”

Stiles nodded, taking a bite of his own bagel and speaking with his mouth full, because fuck manners. “Yeah, she’s the teacher. She’s pretty cool.”

His dad didn’t comment on his table manners, smiled fondly as he seemed to think back. “Yeah, she and your mom were pretty close. Even after you were born, they still used to hang out, go to art auctions and those kind of things.”

Stiles smiled, his chewing slowing as that familiar ache filled his chest and the room went quiet with remembrance. He did remember Ms. Wansley being over sometimes when he was younger and he definitely remembered the art auctions, she and his mom getting dressed up to go out. They’d even let him come along with them once but he was so bored with all the adults standing around chatting with glasses of wine in their hands. He longed for it now… 

Stiles cleared his throat, breaking the heaviness in the room. His dad looked up at him with slightly watery eyes and Stiles blurted out the first thing that came to his mind. 

“Derek Hale is in the class, too.” Smooth, dumbass.

“Come again?” his dad said, coffee, bagel and newspaper forgotten as he leaned forward to scrutinize his son.

“My art class? Derek Hale?” Stiles said, doing a horrible job of feigning innocence.

“Yeah I thought that’s what you said,” his dad said flatly. “I don’t guess it’d do any good to tell you to stay away from him, would it?”

“Well, I mean, it’s suddenly a crime for the guy to join community art classes?”

“Stiles, you and Scott accused him of murder. Twice.”

Stiles winced. “Yeah… We screwed up, okay? But he’s cool, I swear. I mean, you don’t expect me to quit this class just because Derek Hale is in it, too, do you?”

When his dad didn’t answer, Stiles gaped at him. “Dad?”

“Stiles…” his dad said, swiping a hand down his face. “Things have just calmed down around here again. I don’t want you back in trouble again.”

“I just worry about you, son,” his dad said, interpreting Stiles’ silence as upset. “These last few months, I felt like I’ve been losing you and now… I just now feel like I’m getting you back again.”  
And there was the burning barb of guilt in his gut again that had Stiles swallowing involuntarily. “You won’t lose me, Dad. I promise.”

His dad watched him for a moment before sighing. “Okay. Alright” he said softly. “I know this class is good for you so if you say it’s gonna be fine, I’ll… I’ll trust you. But just—tell me if he bothers you or causes you trouble, please?”

“Yeah” Stiles agreed. “Okay”

His dad took one last bite out of his bagel and got up to wash out his mug, Stiles gaping after as he moved about. He never thought he’d hear those words again from his dad and he felt relief coursing through him, had him relaxing a little more in his seat. He hadn’t realized how wound up he’d been before that moment. 

“Thank you, Dad” Stiles said, at length. “And I’m sorry.”

His dad nodded and it seemed like Stiles wasn’t the only one who’d been worn down over the past few months. Even now, his dad looked better and lighter than he had in a while. “It’s fine. You’re fine.”

Stiles decided, while he was at it, he should make amends wherever they were due. “And you know, give Derek a break. The guy could use one, for once.”

His dad gave him a begrudgingly cant of his head, sighing again. “Yeah, I guess he does, huh?”

Stiles shrugged. “I mean, if you wanna go and write him a ticket now and then or follow him extra closely when you’re behind him while driving, that’d be cool, too.”

And the moment was gone, his dad laughing softly as he walked out, his hand grabbing Stiles’ shoulder affectionately as he did. “Be good, kiddo. Love ya.”

“Love you, too, Dad.”

*

Stiles arrived to class ten minutes before it started, only a few other people already seated when he walked in. Once again, no one he recognized. And no Derek, he noted. Ms. Wansley was already there, as well, leaning against her desk and smiling at him when she saw him. She approached him before he could take his seat.

“Stiles, hi, I didn’t get a chance to really talk to you yesterday”

“Yeah, sorry” Stiles said, scrubbing a hand up through the hair on the back of his head awkwardly. He gestured with his sketchpad underneath his right arm. “I kinda got caught up in what I was doing and before I knew it, I was late for lacrosse practice with my friends, so…”

She nodded understandingly, grinning. “Trust me, I know how it is. It’s pretty easy to get lost in what you’re doing when you’re creating.”

Stiles laughed nervously. “I don’t know if I would call what few sketches I have ‘art”.

“Based on what I saw that you accomplished just yesterday, I have to disagree” Ms. Wansley said, nodding toward his sketchbook. “You’re a natural. Just like your mother was.”

It didn’t hurt like Stiles expected it to, to hear her talk about his mom so casually. The ache was still there, sure, but it wasn’t like someone punching a hole in his stomach or all of the air being sucked out of the room. Looking in her eyes, he could see she missed her, as well.

“Thank you” Stiles said softly, looking away and noticing that more students were starting to come in now. “I’d better go and take my seat.”

She nodded, reached out and squeezed his shoulder with a smile before he walked away. As he made his way to the back, he shook off the weight of melancholy that threatened to settle over him, focusing instead on the class. It was actually a lot easier than he thought to get his mind to switch tracks. Plus, Ms. Wansley’s words had warmed him in a way he hadn’t felt since his mom had been alive. He decided to focus on that, instead.

He tossed his sketchbook and packet of sketching pencils down on the table at the place he’d claimed yesterday, flipping it open to the page where he’d started sketching the still life. He’d gotten most of the objects on his side of the table outlined the day before and so today was all about shading and adding depth and texture. He slid a darker gray pencil from the packet and lifted it to begin shading a sphere when he heard Wansley speak.

“Derek? Derek Hale?” 

Stiles glanced up, already flinching for what was to come. Derek was indeed standing in the doorway, looking out of place and a bit uncomfortable at being pointed out in front of the increasingly populated class. He looked different today, and at first Stiles couldn’t really decipher what it was that was off but then he realized it was his clothes. Just like yesterday, they looked untouched by the violence Stiles had come to associate Derek with: an off-white short sleeved Henley and blue jeans with, once again, sneakers. And no black leather jacket, Stiles thought, was hell subzero now?

But what he was most surprised to see that Ms. Wansley was actually pleased to see Derek. Who was ever pleased to see Derek?

“How have you been?” she said, pulling him further into the room by his elbow like he was a trauma patient. Which, judging by Derek’s reaction, you’d think so. “Are you here for the art class?”

“I—yes” Derek said, prompting Stiles to snort in amusement. He caught Derek giving him a side-eyed glare from across the room. “I’ve been… good. And yes, I’m here for the art class, if that’s alright?”

“Of course! Now, you’re just a little bit behind but I’m sure we can easily catch you up” she said, nodding. 

She looked around the room, as if trying to find him a place. Stiles purposefully directed his eyes to his sketchbook, hoping she wouldn’t pick the empty seats on either side of him. It was just like being in elementary school again, hoping the teacher wouldn’t call on him.

“Miss, I’ll help him,” a woman’s voice piped up. Stiles looked up, found his eyebrows rising right along with Derek’s at the big-busted, blonde cougar with her hand raised who was openly eye-fucking Derek. Dude didn’t seem the least bit enthused.

Ms. Wansley seemed to be amused at the exchange, smiling at the woman. “Okay, thank you so much, Paula.” She turned to Derek, “If you’ll take a seat next to Paula, she’ll fill you in on what you’ve missed, Derek.”

“As for the rest of you, you may continue working on the still life” she said, as Derek made his way to the table perpendicular to Stiles’ with a put-out look on his face that Stiles was trying so hard not to laugh at and failing. Derek sent him another glare from where he sat down next to Paula. Paula, who immediately moved unnecessarily close to Derek in a way that even Stiles could see down her top.

“Okay, so we’ve just learned the different techniques of sketching” she said softly, nearly whispering in Derek’s ear. Derek, for his part, kept his eyes glued to the blank page of sketchbook paper he’d turned to.

Stiles rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to the still life he was working on. With a glance at the model a few feet in front of him, he felt himself drawn back into the sketch he’d done. He picked up a shading pencil and set to work around the edges of a vase. While he worked, his mind quieted, the nervous energy he always had buzzing underneath his skin quelled and his focus wasn’t hopping from one thing to another. It was peaceful and Stiles hadn’t ever really known peace before. It was something foreign to the kid who could never sit still, shut up and pay attention for the smallest amount of time.

The next hour flew by without much notice on Stiles’ part. He did the most basic shading on each one of the objects in his still life before taking a tortillion to the dark edges and fading them out. He glanced up a few times at the model in front of him and found his gaze being drawn to his right, where Derek was actually paying attention to Paula’s murmured instructions. She was still leaning far too close to him for it to be innocent but Derek didn’t seem to acknowledging it. Stiles found himself watching the two of them closely, Derek more so than Paula. The way he held the pencil delicately, as if he already knew how to hold it to get the right angle and pressure. It was almost as if he’d done it before. 

“You’re very good at noticing details”

Stiles jumped in his seat, snapping his head to the left of him to see Mrs. Wansley looking over his shoulder at his work. She held her hands out apologetically, laughing a little. 

“What?”

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” she said, hurriedly. “I was just checking on your progress!”

Stiles blushed, felt a little relieved she hadn’t noticed him staring at Derek. Derek, who was now looking over at them curiously as Paula continued to talk to him quietly as she now worked on her own sketch. 

“Oh no, it’s—it’s fine” Stiles stammered. “I, uh, just got caught up in my own little world, I guess.”

She patted him on the shoulder before moving on to the next person. Stiles purposefully kept his eyes on his sketchbook, hoped he looked like he was studying it. He could still feel Derek’s gaze on him, burning into the right side of his face. Stiles wondered faintly if the guy could read minds as well as hear heartbeats and smell emotions. 

Then, Wansley reached Derek and looked down at his work, smiling and muttering something to him before gesturing to the model for the still life. Derek flipped to the next page in his sketchbook and Wansley looked impressed. 

“Wow, I didn’t even have to give you any directions, Derek. Looking very nice” he heard her say. She gave him a smile and a pat on the shoulder, as well, before moving on to Paula.

Before he could look away, Derek glanced up at Stiles at they locked eyes from across the tables. Stiles couldn’t stop himself from sticking his tongue out at Derek like a five-year-old. Derek raised his eyebrows at him and the corners of his mouth turned up just the slightest. Stiles ignored him for the rest of the following hour.

Class ended on time that day and so Stiles didn’t have to rush out of the building and home to change. He took his time getting his things together and tried to keep his snickering quiet when he overheard Paula attempting to get his number. He gave Ms. Wansley a smile on the way out which she returned with a shake of her head, like she knew something that Stiles was up to. And maybe she did, considering Stiles waited in the hallway for Derek to poke fun at him.

Stiles never had been wise with poking fun at dangerous werewolves. 

Paula walked out a few seconds behind Stiles, gave him a wink when she passed by that had him gawping behind her as she walked off. Had people always flirted with him like this, or was it just the weather? The clearing of a throat behind him made him jump and Stiles turned around, clutching his sketchbook to his chest, to find Derek scowling at him.

“God, we’re in public!” Stiles hissed. “You could act a little more human. Or at least, a little less creepy!”

“Why are you waiting on me?” Derek said, ignoring Stiles’ personally good advice and walking away without waiting for an answer. Stiles took the bait and followed him.

“How do you know I was waiting on you? I might’ve been waiting on someone else.” Stiles said, defensively.

“You weren’t” Derek said confidently, causing Stiles to make an outraged noise. “What do you want, Stiles?”

Stiles smirked, matching his steps. “Have a nice first day of class?”

Derek stopped, narrowed his eyes at him. “Yes”

Stiles waited, hoping for Derek to elaborate. When he didn’t, he needled a little further, waggling his eyebrows. “Seemed like you had a very nice day with Paula, eh?”

That earned Stiles an eye roll but not an answer and Derek walked away from Stiles again, pushing open the door to the sunshine and fresh air outside. Stiles followed after him still.

“So uh” Stiles said, hurrying up to catch up with Derek’s pace, still hugging his sketchbook to his side. “How do you know Wansley?”

“How do you know her?” Derek echoed.

“I… asked you first,” Stiles said, petulantly.

“What’s with all the questions?” Derek said, without looking at him.

“Just curious—“

Stiles ran into Derek’s chest and bounced off. His mouth snapped shut at the look Derek was giving him, not unlike one Stiles saw a snake give to a rat on some Animal Planet show once.

“You know what they say about curiosity, Stiles” Derek said, grinning wide enough to let Stiles see his canines lengthening.

Stiles swallowed but didn’t budge, averted his eyes back to Derek’s. “Good thing I’m not a cat, then, huh?”

His voice did not shake just then, either. He mentally gave himself a high five.

Derek shut his mouth with a small click, letting out an annoyed sigh. “She taught me art in high school, Stiles. Are you happy now?”

“Yes” Stiles said, nodding and biting back a laugh. 

This whole moment felt like victory. He’d won some information about Derek, out of Derek, which was like getting blood from a rock. Derek was like a puzzle and Stiles was bored enough to try and figure him out. Summer had brought nothing exciting other than the art class and Stiles had gotten used to crime fighting and fearing for his life. Pestering the fuck out of Derek would do for now.

Derek stared at him for a moment more before turning and walking towards the Camaro that was parked down the street from the community center. Stiles waited til he got a couple feet away before he pulled one last dig.

“See you tomorrow, art buddy!” He yelled at the top of his lungs, waving his arm around.

Derek’s steps stuttered slightly but didn’t stop and Stiles didn’t know whether to count that as a victory or not. He had to get to lacrosse practice anyway.

*

Practice was sweltering and more difficult for Stiles than usual for some reason. It seemed that today was the day for coach to pick on Stiles, yelling things about getting his ass in gear “or else first line would be nothing but a dream within a dream” (what the hell did that even mean?). It wasn’t that Stiles was slower or tripping himself up more than usual, it was that he couldn’t seem to focus on what the hell he was doing and ended up getting tackled or missing the ball.

It was like his entire mind and body was moving through a haze, weighed down and heavy. He couldn’t seem to get himself to focus and be aware. It was possible he was thinking of all the many ways he could irritate Derek into revealing more useless information. But, it was also that the following week, they’d be sketching something of their own in art class and Stiles was already dreaming up the different things he could do. The lacrosse field wasn’t the best place to be doing that, though.  
Stiles bent over, catching his breath. He took his helmet off and ran a hand through his sweaty hair, already growing out longer than he’d had it in awhile. He was starting to wonder if he should cut it to save himself from the heat. 

“Are you alright, man?” Scott had, coming up behind Stiles to lay a hand on his shoulder. It was a testament to how out of it Stiles was that he jumped when Scott, of all people (of all werewolves), snuck up on him. Scott was terrible at stealth.

“Yeah… yeah” Stiles said, shaking his head as if to dispel the fog over him. “Just can’t seem to get out of my head today for some reason. Guess I’m still in my art zone, or something.”

“You’re looking like Derek out there today” Isaac said as he walked up to join them. He, just like Scott, had barely broken a sweat while Stiles was drenched and practically wheezing. Stiles hated them both.

“What?” Stiles said, squinting at him. “What do you mean?”

“Just that, here lately, Derek’s had that same zoned out look on his face” Isaac said, shrugging. Stiles… didn’t know what he was supposed to do with that information. Did Derek get art daydreams, too? Surely he wasn’t imagining all the ways to threaten or maim Stiles.

Okay, that was a possibility, actually.

“I told you I found a bunch of classifieds sections laid out at the train depot, right?” Isaac said, nudging Scott. “I think he’s looking for apartments. Nice ones, if the ads are anything to go by.”

“Really” Stiles said, honestly surprised. And… a little pleased? 

He was pleased for Derek’s sake, of course. Derek may be a douchebag, but no one deserved to live out of a train depot or the rotting cask of the house where your family died.

Isaac nodded, just as Scott spoke. “Great. Good for Derek”

Though, if you asked Stiles, Scott didn’t seem to think it was good or actually anything worth caring about at all. And some sort of conversation seemed to go unspoken between him and Isaac in the next moment that had Isaac looking apologetic. Stiles opened his mouth to comment when Coach’s whistle cut through the air and their break was over. Stiles didn’t do any better for the rest of practice, though, thoroughly distracted by more thoughts of Derek and apartments, Derek and art.

It occurred to Stiles that despite the past couple of months, Derek was still very much a stranger to Stiles.  
*

The next morning, Stiles got to class to find that Derek was already there, seated in the same spot as the day before. He let out a soft chuckle under his breath because Derek was seriously the biggest freaking masochist he’d ever met. He walked to the back of the room and laid his sketchbook down on the table before walking over to Derek, whose eyebrows rose with Stiles’ approach. 

“More questions?” Derek asked, though if you asked Stiles, there was almost humor detected in the annoyed tone. 

“Nope” Stiles said. “Statements. Isaac said you were looking at apartments”

Derek didn’t look surprised, but did narrow his eyes at Stiles. “Yes”

“Cool” Stiles said plainly. “That you’re looking for apartments, I mean. That’s—that’s good.”

He glanced down at the opened sketchpad on Derek’s desk and found himself leaning forward to look at it. Derek’s side of the model was all glass bottles and a set of deer antlers and Derek had managed to capture them perfectly. Derek snapped the sketchpad shut before Stiles realized what he was doing. He jerked away when he saw Derek’s face so close, felt himself blushing.

“I—sorry. Great work”

If it was possible, Derek’s eyes narrowed further. He gave a short nod and Stiles took that as thanks enough. He didn’t give Derek a chance to say anything else before he walked away and took his seat. But Stiles did laugh again under his breath when he saw the faintest look of horror on Derek’s face when Paula came in and sat down right beside him. It was like he’d forgotten about her completely. She leaned over and said something about them being art buddies, from what Stiles could hear and Stiles had to duck his head down on his folded arms to keep from laughing aloud.

He was sure there was a glare directed his way from Derek but Stiles didn’t care in the least. Ms. Wansley came in a moment later and Stiles flipped open his sketchbook as she spoke about the coming week and doing their own solo sketches. He glanced over at Derek once whose mouth was pressed into a hard line as he worked, Paula chatting quietly to him and Stiles grinned to himself. The next two hours, hell, the next few weeks, were going to be entertaining to say the least.


	3. "Hanging on to parts of me, hanging on at all"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After all, if the Alpha of all broody, grieving Alpha's can move on, so can Stiles.

The next few days passed easily enough. Stiles found himself in a sort of routine, which was comforting with the absence of school. He woke up early, went to his art class, acknowledged Derek and then went home to change into lacrosse gear for practice either with the team or just Scott and Isaac. Almost every night, he was home to spend time with his dad after a long day and he was happy with that. His dad being home at night meant there wasn’t any trouble afoot in Beacon Hills that required the sheriff being out and about. Anyhow, he was getting healthy doses of creativity and sport every day. He was going to bed at a decent hour now that he was so worn out every day. He still didn’t exactly feel well rested when he woke up, but that could be blamed wholly on the nightmares.

The nightmares were where he relived being bound in the darkness, pulled away from his dad and awakening in the Argents’ basement. He revisited the cool, dim room nearly every night, apart from the nights where he was lucky enough not to dream at all, and relived the fists to his flesh and even the point where Gerard gave him a taste of electricity. He could hear Gerard’s voice on repeat, right before he’d touched the wires to Stiles’ skin.

“So you want to run with the wolves, do you, boy? Then you get to experience their weakness, too.”

It was always right after the shock that Stiles would wake up in a cold sweat, eyes snapping open, body rigid with the panic and reaction he’d felt. He was just thankful he didn’t cry out or anything. His dad was still under the impression Stiles had been kidnapped as a prank that went wrong. Stiles intended to keep it that way.

Lately, if he woke up in the middle of the night from one of the dreams, he’d pull out his sketchbook and work on something; either his classwork or something he’d just let his mind go to town on to forget about the dream. One night, he’d pulled out a photograph of his mom that he’d kept in his dresser and began sketching her. It was one of his favorites that had been taken right after he’d been born. She was sat in the soft light of a lamp, cradling him and looking up at the camera with a smile, her eyes full of joy. He’d fallen asleep like that and hadn’t dreamt at all. He thanked his mom quietly the next morning.

In some ways, Stiles was still struggling with things but he felt like he was taking steps forward instead of back, finally. The art class was one of those steps, as he was beginning to realize. He felt lighter after going to class, after zoning out for two hours and not thinking about what his life had become. He loved Scott and all of his other friends, regardless of their wolve-lihood (hell, he probably loved them even more because of it cause, come on, werewolves were fucking awesome) but things were getting pretty heavy, even for Stiles-let’s-go-play-find-the-dead-body-in-the-woods-Stilinski. But he was doing better now.

It was Wednesday now and it had been over a week now that Stiles had been in the art class. Stiles still found it hilarious every single time Single Mother Cougar prowled on Derek, even though Derek was barely paying her any attention. Every morning before class, he’d chat up Derek about something new just to bug him but to Stiles’ surprise, he didn’t seem to mind. He’d even stopped rolling his eyes every time Stiles approached him. Today had been no different and Stiles almost even sat down beside him for class until Paula walked in. 

It was surreal, the way they were almost—dare he say it—almost-friends? And he wasn’t cringing at the thought like he would have once done.

Scott’s mom was working late that night so after their ridiculously long practice (Finstock said they deserved after how ridiculously awful they had apparently been), Scott came over to Stiles’ for dinner with him and his dad. Stiles pushed through the door, legs practically dragging behind him, Scott following behind looking tired but the kind of tired that a stomach full of food would cure. Stiles, meanwhile, felt like he could sleep for a few days.

He ducked into the kitchen, giving a wave to his dad who was stirring what smelled like chili in a pot. Stiles pumped a fist into the air at the same time that Scott groaned something like “Hell yes”.

“I’m taking that as a compliment” his dad said, laughing.

“Your chili is the best, Dad” Stiles said, Scott nodding as he did. “Like, really, there’s no competition”

“Well, it’ll be ready soon so go wash up, both of you. You both smell like a gym bag” 

Stiles led the way up to his room, Scott close behind him, both finding energy in the promise of good food. Stiles dropped his lacrosse bag on the floor of his room before elbowing his way into the bathroom in front of Scott to lather his hands in soap. Scott pushed him back out of the door just as soon as his hands were clear of soap and Stiles laughed his way back to his room before falling forward onto his bed with a muffled groan. He listened to the sound of the water running in the bathroom as Scott cleaned himself up. Stiles felt like he could have dozed off right then and there and probably would have if Scott didn’t come stomping into his room a minute later, flinging his wet hands all over him.

“Nooooo” Stiles whined, kicking a leg out and grinning into his covers when it connected with a body. Scott laughed, though, so Stiles figured he was okay.

Things got quiet after that and Stiles peeked over his shoulder to see Scott leaning against his desk, flipping through his sketchbook. Stiles stood up quickly, aiming to snatch it out of Scott’s hand but Scott held it out of his reach.

“Give it to me!” Stiles said, still grabbing, but Scott wasn’t paying him any attention, was instead examining Stiles’ sketches with actual concentration.

“Scott, come on” Stiles whined again.

“These are really good, dude. Like, really. ” Scott said, finally. Stiles felt the fight go out of him, feeling a little shy under the compliment where normally he would have played up the bravado. “How come you never told me you were so good at art, man?”

Stiles looked at the page he was holding up, one of a sketch of lacrosse gear he’d huddled together one night and sketched. He’d even included his jersey, the number 24 just barely sketched out so far. Stiles shrugged in response to his best friend’s question. “I didn’t know”

Scott handed his sketchbook to him finally, much to some relief that Stiles didn’t really understand. Scott noticed it, commented. “You really like it, huh? You seem pretty protective over your stuff.”

Stiles tossed the sketchbook on his bed, hoped it conveyed some sort of nonchalance. “Yeah, I mean, it’s fun. I get it. It’s easier than breathing and… I don’t know, I can sorta concentrate without trying when I do it.”

Scott nodded understandingly. His dad called them downstairs from dinner and the art was forgotten in favor of running downstairs to get to the chili first, pushing each other as they went. Just like the brothers they’d been since grade school. Which was why Stiles didn’t really understand why it made him so uncomfortable talking to Scott about his art. They shared everything together. Like, everything. Stiles had been the person Scott called when he and Allison first had sex and he’d explained it in detail before Stiles could stop him. He remembered the reason for his worry, though, after they’d all sat down and each had a bowl to themselves and his dad started chatting with him.

“So how was your class today, son?” his dad said between a spoonful of chili. “Hale didn’t give you any trouble, did he?”

And there it was. Stiles froze with a spoon halfway to his mouth, Scott going still beside him. He didn’t even have to look at his best friend to see the bewildered look on his face. “Derek?”

“I—yeah” Stiles said.

His dad looked confused so Stiles elaborated to them in turn. “Yes, Derek, and no, he’s not causing me trouble. Just the opposite, I’m sure I’m the one annoying the hell out of him.”

Stiles’ dad nodded, satisfied but Scott still looked like Stiles had kicked him in the gut. “How come you didn’t tell me Derek was in your art class?”

His dad glanced between them, eyes narrowing. “Is there some reason I should be worried about him being there?”

“No, Dad. I told you that you don’t have to worry about him,” Stiles said, rolling his eyes and trying not to let his frustration show. He turned to Scott. “Look it’s not a big deal. Yeah, we’re in the same art class. So what?”

Scott opened his mouth like he was going to say something else but then he looked over to the sheriff and shut it. Stiles was half-afraid Scott was going to say something involving werewolves or kanimas or crazy-ass hunters and half-hopeful he’d spill whatever he’d been hiding that made him so much uncomfortable about Derek that Stiles apparently didn’t know.

The rest of dinner went by with awkward silence as Stiles ate with his eyes on his plate, Scott doing the same and Stiles’ dad watching them both suspiciously. Finally, Stiles finished his plate and Scott stood at the same time he did. They carried their bowls to the sink and Scott said goodbye and thank you to Stiles’ dad. Stiles was walking him out the door when he caught Scott’s arm, pulled him aside.

“Dude, what’s going on?” Stiles said, keeping his voice low. “Why are you being so weird about Derek?”

Scott narrowed his eyes at Stiles. “I’m not the one being weird about Derek. You’re the one hanging out with him and keeping it a secret.”

“I’m not hanging out with him!” Stiles said, throwing his arms out in exasperation. “We have a class together and no, I’m not going to stop going just because Derek freaking Hale is there, too.”

“I don’t trust him,” Scott said, not crossing his arms like Stiles expecting him to but placing his hands on his hips. The move said, ‘I’m not getting my way and I don’t like it but I’ll suck it up’.

“And he doesn’t trust you. He keeps secrets, you keep secrets, blah blah blah” Stiles said, rolling his eyes. “I get it, okay?”

Scott sighed, looking pouty. “Just… if he does anything—“

“Oh my God, yes I will tell you” Stiles said, practically growling. “I will tell you if he threatens my life or reveals some diabolical plan to turn more wayward teens into creatures of the night.”

“Good” Scott said, nodding before turning to leave. “Later”

“Yeah. See ya” Stiles said, shutting the door behind him. 

He waited til he was sure Scott was gone before blowing out the breath he was holding. Stiles didn’t need werewolf hearing to know Scott had been lying to him. It didn’t take a genius, either, to figure out that this was just more of the same that he’d been getting from Scott since the night everything went down with Gerard and Jackson. Stiles decided that if Scott wasn’t going to tell him, he’d find out for himself.

*

Stiles was once again in a rush to get to class the next morning, having been up nearly all night the night before. He’d gotten a little preoccupied with the sketch of his mom, making sure to get just the right shape of her eyes and then smiling when he realized they shared that. To shake off the overwhelming rush of emotion coming over him, he’d turned to a new page and just played some music softly while he’d just sketched away. He’d awoke with a twinge in his neck from where he’d fallen asleep sitting up at one point before slumping over. His brow furrowed when he’d seen the sketch he’d fallen asleep working on: the outline of what looked like a wolf.

That morning, as he was driving to the community center, Stiles allowed himself to imagine what it would have been like if his mom was still alive and what she would think about him joining an art class. Stiles wasn’t a fool, he knew he was adept at this stuff and he blamed it all on his mom. He knew she’d have been proud and excited, for sure, but probably a little jealous that her best friend was the one teaching him the ropes as opposed to her. Stiles’ mom got a little competitive and had a tendency to be sneaky, which is where he got all of those parts of him. But she was also sharp-tongued when she was angry and always got the last word in when involved with an argument. That got him wondering whether she would have liked Derek, for some reason.

He laughed a small laugh to himself with the realization that she would. She’d probably nitpick at him whenever they saw each other in town and Derek would have no choice but to grumble and agree with her cause you didn’t argue with Stiles’ mom. If he ever smarted off to her, she’d smart off right back with a quickness and intelligence that’d make Derek’s head spin. He was full on grinning by the time he arrived to class, which got him an answering smile from Ms. Wansley.

“Good morning, Stiles” she said, from where she was leaning against her desk. The class was already filling with its usually students and so Stiles figured he wasn’t as late as he thought.

“Morning” he said, with a nod, before making his way to his seat, already sprawling his sketchbook and pencils.

Stiles was just about to open his book and continue working on the wolf when Derek walked in the room and Stiles grinned when he looked over to see Paula automatically perking up when she spotted him. But when he looked back at Derek, who was still standing in the doorway, he realized Derek looked grumpier than usual and Stiles felt a nagging guilt beginning in him that refused to let this go on any longer. Plus, if there was anyone else he could ask about what had happened between Derek and Scott, it was—duh—Derek. He sighed to himself and his hand went up before he could have any second thoughts.

“Derek, old buddy!” Stiles said, waving at him. Derek’s eyebrows rose dubiously and Stiles thought that if it was anyone other than Derek, the guy would be laughing at the fact that Stiles had just called him, of all people, his buddy. But, people were staring and Stiles was already starting to regret this, so if Seńor Alpha could get with the program… “Come and take a seat by your pal, Stiles!”

Derek, after a millisecond, finally found his feet and started to move towards the back of the room, much to the upset of Paula and Stiles wasn’t going to observe why that made him feel all giddy and want to grin like an idiot cause wow Derek was sitting right next to him. Stiles wasn’t prepared for that, he expected maybe at least a chair between them as a buffer (as a weapon for Derek or a barrier for Stiles) but nope, Derek was like six inches away from him in his seat.

“Thanks” Derek mumbled, just low enough for Stiles to catch and maybe even miss. Stiles didn’t though and even lost his mind for the moment it took to knock a fist against Derek’s (definitely firm) bicep. He was horrified for the moment it took Derek to glance down at his bicep and Stiles’ fist that was now dropped down to his side before Derek simply rolled his eyes and opened his sketchbook.

Ms. Wansley closed the door to the classroom and announced that this would be their last week spent on sketching before moving onto painting. Stiles felt a little bit disappointed about it because he really enjoyed sketching but painting had been his mother’s favorite so he figured he could get on board with that, too.

“So…” Stiles said, opening his own sketchbook and flipping to the sketch he’d started earlier that week, a picture of a creepy looking marionette. “How the apartment hunt going?”

Derek spared a glance at his sketch and huffed a small laugh before turning to back to his work. “Fine”

Stiles scowled at Derek in defense of his drawing. He liked his marionette sketch, thank you very much, even if it might appear to have been done by someone with some serious psychological issues. Stiles flipped over to the page with the wolf that he’d started the night before and pouted for a moment because there was no drawing to go from. With a sigh, he turned back to the creepy marionette. Derek’s seen dead bodies and real live horror movie creatures, he could deal with a friggin doll.

“I like the wolf” Derek said softly. Stiles turned to look at him but Derek was fully focused on his sketch of what looked to be the view of a sunrise from an apartment window, the point of perspective drawing down the neighborhood outside, toward the skyline over the tops of buildings. 

“You would” Stiles said petulantly. Derek simply smirked in return and Stiles conceded an actual compliment. “I like your buildings or whatever.”

“Was that so hard?” Derek replied, barely restraining a smile. Stiles didn’t know how to react to that, so he didn’t answer him.

The rest of class passed in mutual companionable silence between the two of them. Stiles found that he actually liked having someone he knew in the class with him that seemed to get what it was there for. Not just some extra credit to graduate but something enjoyable. Something peaceful that took actual thought and feeling. Stiles loved Scott to pieces and more than Allison ever could (and yes he’d fight her for that title) but he just didn’t get art. Which was fine. But Derek seemed to know what it meant to create something and put all of your heart and soul and effort into it.

When the class was over, Stiles’ curiosity once again got the best of him and he stood up the same time as Derek who gave him a suspicious look. Stiles hoped he looked relaxed, nonchalant as he gathered his things. He turned to Derek before he could walk off.

“So what got you into art? And don’t say you just had to take it in high school cause that--” Stiles said, nodding towards Derek’s sketchbook. “Says different. You like art and it shows.”

Derek stood in front of him, considering Stiles like he’d been doing more and more recently, as if trying to find some sort of ulterior motive for Stiles’ questions, which is probably exactly what he was doing. But Stiles was genuinely just curious to a fault. It was going to get him killed someday, truthfully. But it seemed highly unlikely that this was going to be the thing Derek snapped and ripped his throat out over.

Finally, he looked away, seeming to look for anything but Stiles to look at. “Laura always loved art growing up. I did actually take up the class in high school, before… you know.”

Stiles nodded, feeling a bit guilty for asking. Derek looked uncomfortable, was about to turn away to leave before Stiles spoke again. “My mom”

Derek seemed confused so Stiles clarified, “She’s the one who got me into art. She was always painting and stuff, even went to exhibits and charity dinners with Wansley. I did art, too, before… she died. But not really since.”

Derek seemed taken aback by the information, surprised by the admission and Stiles had to fight back a smile for getting the last word for once. He nodded one last time and muttered a goodbye before stepping around Derek and walking out of the classroom. He studiously ignored the curious look Ms. Wansley was giving him as he exited.

It didn’t occur to him until he was in his Jeep and on his way back to his house that he’d said more about his mother’s death to Derek than he’d ever said to anyone and that he hadn’t actually asked about Scott at all. It confused, terrified and warmed Stiles all at the same time and that just continued to confuse and terrify him.

*

Practice was short that afternoon and relatively uneventful. Everyone was terrified because Finstock seemed less crazed than usual but at the end of practice, he’d simply said that there was no hope for any of them anymore, leaving everyone thoroughly confused and worried for their lives and Finstock’s mental health. Stiles hung back after practice, along with Isaac and Scott to just play a few rounds with Scott as goalie and the other two of them attempting to get the ball past him.

“So you see—“ Stiles said, pausing to hurl a ball toward Scott, who knocked it out of the air without so much as a grunt. “That’s why I wrote an essay on the history of the male circumcision.”

Isaac was shaking his head and laughing to himself as he tossed a ball toward Scott and getting it into the net right next to Scott’s left foot. “Never let it be said you don’t know your shit, Stiles”

“Damn right” Stiles said, with a growl before letting loose another volley.

“So Scott told me about you and Derek” Isaac said, as his turn came up and all Stiles could do was whip his head around to gape at Isaac, mouth working soundlessly. 

“Me and Derek?” he finally said with what he hoped was an incredulous expression on his face. The smirk on Isaac’s face told different. 

“Yeah, your art class?” Isaac said, grinning as Stiles got a ball in the goal this time. “I figured he was going to therapy but I guess art has the same effect on people”

“What do you mean?” Stiles said, before he threw a fist in the air when he got a goal. Part of him realized that Scott must be off his game if he’s actually missing points to Stiles.

“He just seems different” Isaac said with a shrug. “Less gloom and doom and he’s always got his sketchbook with him when I see him.”

Stiles couldn’t help but smile at that a little bit. “He’s really good”

Isaac was about to reply when Scott came stalking out of the goal. “Dude, I thought we agreed not to talk about Derek during practice. Or ever?”

Stiles crossed his arms, ignoring how much of a child it made him look. “And I thought we agreed no using werewolf powers during practice.”

Scott rolled his eyes and took his goalie mask off, shoving it at Stiles. “Your turn.”

Stiles looked between Scott and Isaac for a moment, noting how Isaac seemed the slightest bit uncomfortable and maybe even… guilty? Finally, he hustled down the field toward the goal, the mask on. He was thankful when Isaac and Scott when easy on him, considering he’d never defend against any werewolf-powered shots. He was able to keep the majority of their balls out of the net, but his focus wasn’t completely on the game cause even from where he was, he could see Scott and Isaac’s lips barely moving. He might not be able to read their lips but he knew the subject had to be Derek.

*

Stiles stood in the bathroom, staring at his reflection in the mirror, his eyes roving over his own face. At first, he’d been joking around, plugging the clippers in and humming “Reflection” to himself because who can resist singing Disney songs? But then he was holding the clippers in his hand, staring at it as it buzzed away. He stood like that for a moment before he turned it off and simply turned and stared at himself, uncertain. 

It had all started when he and his dad were just sitting around in the living room, watching baseball and eating pizza. It was a night at home instead of hanging out with friends, but Stiles was thankful for it. Tonight was chill and quiet, just the tinny roar of the crowd from the television and Stiles laid out across the couch with his dad nearly dozing off in the recliner. The only thing missing was what had been missing for two years now and that was his mom making noises under her breath every time there was an out or home run. She used to be the one to really get everyone into the games and that baffled people because she was usually so serene and quiet when she was involved with her artistic thing but then the Mets would play and she’d be agitating and cursing under her breath to Stiles and his dad’s delight.

The loss was still felt even now and it remained a weight in the space she used to fill on the couch beside Stiles, stayed in the back of his mind like always. Finally, his dad had realized he was two seconds from spending a night in the recliner (as if Stiles wouldn’t wake him and send him to his room) so he stood and headed to bed, running his hand through Stiles’ hair as he passed the couch in lieu of a good night.

Stiles let out a soft laugh and murmured a good night in return, but the fact that his hair was sticking up in all directions nagged at him, had him running a hand through it himself. In the quiet and emptiness of the living room, the weight came to the forefront of his mind and he realized exactly what it was that was bugging him.

And that’s how he ended up in the bathroom with the clippers in his hand. For two years now he’d kept it cut short, beginning right after his mom had been diagnosed. It was the least he could do for her when she started to lose her hair so she wouldn’t feel alone. He couldn’t take her pain away, couldn’t take the chemo for her, couldn’t give her any of his energy, but he could do this. Even after she let go, he kept his hair short, unable to let it grow out, to believe that time went on without her or that the fight was over. But the fight was over, wasn’t it? Time was still moving, wasn’t it? Stiles had turned seventeen just two months ago and he’d not even been fifteen when she’d gotten sick. Looking at himself now and seeing barely any traces of baby fat, he felt a sense of whiplash from how much time had passed.

His phone buzzing in the pocket of his jeans interrupted his thoughts. Stiles turned off the clippers, allowing silence back into the bathroom and fishing his phone out. It was a text from Isaac and Stiles was already groaning internally because it was a quarter past ten so it couldn’t be good news. 

“Derek signed a lease, moving in right now. Thought it’d be better to tell you this way.”

Stiles stared at the message for a few seconds, confused. He waited for another minute but no other text came and Stiles realized that was it. That was the message. His already sped up heartbeat slowed down, relief coursing through him and he felt a smile on his face. For once, Derek and good news actually went together in the same sentence. Derek was actually moving on from that crypt of a building he called home. Stiles just hoped it was some place you couldn’t contract tetanus by sitting down somewhere.

Looking back at himself in the mirror, he glanced at the smile on his lips that was more genuine than he’d seen in a while. He put down the clippers and walked out of the bathroom, phone in hand. He thought to himself as he texted a congratulatory text to Derek, that if the Alpha of all broody Alphas can move on, so can Stiles.

*

The next day in class, Stiles pestered Derek for the whole two hours to find out what his apartment was like and where it was. Derek smirked the whole time.


	4. "I was used to seeing no future in my sight line"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles hates painting. Derek is, of course, awesome at it and gives Stiles a new appreciation for it. Then they have lunch and everything goes to shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this chapter kind of took a different turn than I was expecting and I'm not sure about it but hopefully it works. Honestly afraid I didn't do it justice, but... yeah. A little feedback would be lovely!

The rest of the week in art class had been Stiles’ favorite (so far) and not just because he really loved sketching and loved it even more when he didn’t have to do still life. Still life was nice and easy but he craved drawing things that meant something to him instead of an arranged model of glass and fruit. The reason the second week of art had been better than the first was because, surprisingly to Stiles, Derek was there. Derek, who had, before now been a fan of answering in short bursts of anger and bitchiness and had not been Stiles’ biggest fan was now talking amiably and quietly throughout two hours of class time. He wasn’t any closer to unraveling the secret behind Scott’s weird behavior lately but he was unraveling the secret that was Derek Hale.

Most of the class, they just focused on working on their art, because yeah, that actually required a bit of attention and Stiles given up on his marionette so he’d decided to work on his wolf sketch, after all. They offered tips, as well, while they worked (mostly Derek offering the tips, actually) “if you shade a little bit there, it’ll make the wolf look more relaxed”, “that’s not how a wolf’s ear looks, Stiles”. Finally, Stiles had had enough of Derek’s helpful tips and he’d looked over at Derek’s sketch of what he’d figured out was a view of a Manhattan neighborhood skyline from an apartment window and said “one of your buildings are crooked”, just to mess with Derek. He’d had to bite his frigging tongue to keep from laughing when Derek actually snapped his focus back to his own sketch and make sure all of his buildings were level and aligned. When he’d glared back at Stiles, Stiles couldn’t hold it in anymore, laughing loud enough to get glares from everyone in the classroom, including the ever-jealous Paula.

Ms. Wansley had simply shushed him good-naturedly, but even she was laughing at the two of them.

He hadn’t managed to broach the subject of what it was that had Scott and Derek so broody and angry at each other with any luck. He’d spoken about it once but Derek’s face had gone back to that shut down, guarded and angry look so fast at the mention of Scott’s name, Stiles hadn’t brought it up again. The rest of the class had been spent with Stiles trying to get Derek to revert back to the pod person he’d gotten to know lately. He’d made some lame joke and Derek’s lips had quirked up in that way that Stiles just knew was him making an effort not to smile. He didn’t know why he even cared and he told himself that he wasn’t going to get anywhere as long as Derek was in a bad mood.

 

Stiles had walked into the classroom that Monday morning in the third week of June and immediately felt like pouting. The tables that had been occupying the classroom the previous two weeks were now folded up and set aside to make room for the multitude of easels filling the room. Stiles did groan under his breath and pout out his lips a little. 

Painting.

Stiles hated painting. Paint wasn’t as easily manipulated as graphite and lead were; it was unpredictable and required some kind of mastering that Stiles wasn’t capable of. It made Stiles nervous which made his hands unsteady and screw up the damn color wheel he was working on. He could feel Derek’s eyes on him the whole time he was silently getting more and more agitated and was expecting Derek to crack some joke or laugh at him but he’d remained quiet. Finally, Stiles set down his paintbrush and taken a step back to take a deep breath and calm himself down.

“You’re trying too hard,” Derek said, suddenly by his side. 

Stiles hadn’t even realized he’d closed his eyes but when he’d opened them, he saw Derek looking at Stiles’ messy color wheel. Stiles grimaced at the way the colors were mixing in a way that was definitely not pretty. He let out a sigh and shrugged.

“I don’t know what that means but if I try any less, I’m pretty sure it’s not going to be any better,” Stiles said with a snort. “And if I call Wansley over here again, I feel like she’s going to drown me in my dirty paint water”

Derek rolled his eyes and bumped his shoulder against Stiles, moving him aside and pulling his own easel next to Stiles’. Stiles scowled at Derek’s color wheel, which was perfectly divided into wedges of the rainbow, crisp and dry where Stiles wasn’t even finished yet and looked like a kindergartener did it. Before he could open his mouth to snap at Derek about rubbing it in, though, he was being pulled over toward Derek’s easel by Derek’s hand on his arm. He glanced pointedly at the grip and Derek raised an eyebrow but relinquished Stiles’ arm before flipping to a blank page in his sketchbook.

“What’s happening?” Stiles said, utterly confused.

“Sketch out your color wheel” Derek said, and then added when Stiles opened his mouth, “don’t ask questions, just do it”. 

Stiles rolled his eyes but picked up the pencil on Derek’s easel and set to work sketching out a circle, then using a ruler to divide it into pieces for his color wheel. 

“Now what?” Stiles said, when he’d finished and moved aside to let Derek see.

Derek didn’t answer, picked up a paintbrush, dipped it in the puddle of red he had on his palette and quietly dabbed it within one of the wedges on the color wheel. Stiles watched him, found himself fascinated by the movement of Derek’s wrist, the flex of his fingers as he maneuvered the brush. Derek’s voice broke through his thoughts, talking as he dipped the brush in water, cleaning, drying and then dipping it in yellow.

“You’re so focused on keeping yourself rigid and steady while you’re working that you’re actually making yourself more nervous and shaky” Derek murmured, eyes on the paper. Stiles listened, but kept his eyes trained on Derek’s work.

“You have to relax and just breathe, move with the brush. Paint is fluid, not like lead. You can’t be so tense with it. Just move.”

And now Stiles was focusing on breathing and keeping his thoughts from going where his blood flow was because he was definitely full-body flushing now. Derek turned to him just as he finished the blue wedge, the three colors triangulating to meet in the middle of the wheel, leaving spaces between for other colors. He held the brush out towards Stiles, eyebrows raised.

Stiles moved forward, taking the brush from Derek and staring dumbfounded at the new color wheel, wondering what the hell had happened just now. He realized Derek was behind him, waiting for Stiles to actually paint his color wheel. He made an aborted movement to put the brush to the paper, mixed the blue with some yellow and made to paint between their intervals. Derek grabbed his wrist before he could, though, nearly giving Stiles whiplash as well as a frigging heart attack.

“Did you have something you wanted to add?” Stiles managed to squeak out, raising an eyebrow at Derek.

Derek jerked his head back at the paper, directing Stiles’ attention back to it while still holding onto his wrist. “Breathe in, then out, slowly.”

Stiles stared at him for a second longer before following his directions, even going as far as closing his eyes again. He felt his shoulders loosen a little, his arm relax in Derek’s grip. He finally opened his eyes and Derek let go of his hand, nodding. He was so thankful that his and Derek’s canvas seemed to be forming some sort of wall between them and the rest of the class because he was sure everyone would be staring at them right now.

“Now paint” Derek said, hands on his hips.

Stiles did as he said, not thinking, not doing much but focusing on the way the paint spread on the paper after his brush. His hand was sure and steady the whole time and it didn’t breach the lines he’d made for the wedge either. He dipped the brush in the cup of water, cleaned it, moved on to the next color and repeated the whole process again.

“Got it?” Derek said, finally.

“Yeah” Stiles said softly, not looking away from his work. “Yeah I think I’ve got it.”

“Good” Derek said, then added, “’cause now I don’t owe you anything”.

Stiles finished the wedge of color he was working on, turned to look at Derek with a frown. Derek had a self-satisfied smile on his face it just confused Stiles further. “Owe me? Why would you owe me?”

“For asking me to sit next to you last week, saving me from—“ Derek stopped, looked around as if to make sure they weren’t being overheard. “You know, Paula”

Stiles scoffed a laugh, rolled his eyes. “No problem, dude and you didn’t owe me anything for that.”

Derek gave him a disbelieving look. “Like you honestly wanted me to sit by you?” 

“Hasn’t been too terrible so far,” Stiles said, shrugged before giving him a grin. “Though you do talk a lot”

Derek snorted, opened his mouth to reply, most likely to give some witty comeback but was cut off by Ms. Wansley dismissing class and then the following sounds of people gathering their things and wash out their paint. After he’d gone to the sink in the back and cleaned up everything, Stiles moved to grab his sketchbook from the easel but realized his new (and better by far) color wheel was painted in Derek’s sketchbook, and hesitated. 

“I can hang onto it for you until tomorrow, since it’s not dry just yet” Derek offered.

“Are you sure?” Stiles said, to which Derek answered with a shrug. “Well, okay then. Thanks”

Derek gathered his things and Stiles realized there was no reason for him to hang around any longer and took a step towards the door before stopping again. He didn’t know why he did it, but the fact that Derek had been so nice to him lately probably had something to do with it. Whatever the reason, Stiles spoke then.

“Do you wanna go get some lunch with me?”

Derek turned to him just as he had his things together, sketchbook open and turned away from him, as Stiles’ color wheel was still drying. He looked utterly confused and Stiles had to refrain from laughing at him but he’d never seen Derek look so lost.

“I-- Don’t you have lacrosse practice?” 

“Nah, not today. Finstock said something about dental surgery. I think he broke a tooth yelling at Greenburg or something,” Stiles says with a shrug. “Me, Scott and Isaac would usually practice ourselves but Deaton called them in today cause he needed help.”

Derek nodded, but still didn’t answer and still looked a bit like he was out of his element. “It’s okay if you don’t want to, you know” Stiles offered. “You can say no, I promise I won’t cry. Much.”

Derek seemed to come back to himself then, look a little bit more confident. “No, that sounds fine. Lunch sounds good.”

Stiles laughed. “Awesome, I know just the place”

*

The place was one of the oldest diners in Beacon Hills, originating from the ‘50’s and having experienced minimal redressing and restoration. Joy’s Diner was Stiles’, and his dad’s, favorite place in Beacon Hills because it was authentic diner food, having been passed down through the family that owned it over the years. Stiles, his dad and his mom had all come there at least once a month when she’d been alive. Ever since, though, his dad had stopped going there himself, sending a deputy or whoever was going for lunch to buy him something from there (when Stiles couldn’t intercept and demand a healthy lunch). Stiles only recently was able to start going himself. It still felt weird sometimes but it wasn’t uncomfortable.

Stiles looked over at Derek when he pulled up and wondered if Derek noticed something about Stiles’ emotions cause he had an odd scowl on his face that Stiles had gotten used to doing without. He was almost glaring at the building and Stiles was half-convinced it would burst into flames at any moment. 

“You alright, man?” Stiles said, when Derek didn’t meet him at the door of the diner.

Derek broke his gaze from the building, eyes sliding over to meet Stiles’ and relaxing a little when he did. “Yes” Derek said, at length. “It’s just-- I’ve just been here before, myself, is all.”

“Oh. Well.” Stiles said, felt a bit awkward and yet somewhat curious as to what kind of connection Derek could have to the place that would have him acting so weird. It’s not weird that Derek had been there before, possibly even with his family. Everyone in Beacon Hills had probably been there at least once. “We don’t have to eat here, if you don’t want?”

“No. It’s fine” Derek gritted out immediately, stalking toward the door and opening it before walking in. Stiles followed him inside, feeling a little lost but more hungry than anything. All he could hope for was that Derek wasn’t going to kill anyone today.

Derek brooded his way to the back and took a booth, Stiles following to take the seat across from him. Their waitress, an older woman who was definitely a grandmother, came to take their order, calling them things like “adorable” and “handsome” and “fine young men” as she did. Stiles ducked his head, blushing a little and even Derek looked a little bashful which Stiles found laughable. After she brought their drinks and went to call in their food though, Stiles could tell something about this place was still bothering Derek, the way he sat all tense as if he was ready to attack. It was taking every ounce of self-restraint in Stiles’ being not to ask him what was up. So instead, Stiles did the thing he was the best at in these situations: deflection and distraction.

“So, as you might’ve guessed, I’m not the biggest fan of painting” Stiles said, after exactly thirty seconds of silence. 

“You don’t say” Derek deadpans, causing Stiles to grin and relax a little. If Derek’s able to be joking, Stiles can work with that.

“Yeah, my mom loved it though. It was her favorite.” Stiles said. “She was always best when she was in her zone with some paint and a canvas. I loved to be around her when she was painting cause somehow her calm made me calmer. Less… you know, jittery.”

Derek nodded, his attention totally to devoted Stiles’ words like it was the most important thing he could ever learn. At one time, Derek looked at Stiles like he hoped if he stared long enough, he would disappear. So naturally, it was jarring to be on the receiving end on such attention from Derek, of all people. Stiles tried not to look too long back into Derek’s bright green eyes, but he felt his own eyes being drawn back to them every time he looked away. They were breathtaking and had Stiles taking in a sharp breath in response to the realization.

“When—“ Stiles hesitated, rolled a lip between his teeth in indecision before speaking. Derek was giving him a curious look over the top of his glass of water, probably sensing that Stiles was having difficulty with saying what he was going to say. Finally, Stiles took a deep breath and started again.

“When my mom died, she had been in the middle of working on a collection of paintings of her favorite places. She’s done a couple actually, one of her favorite spot in the Reserve, one of her childhood home, one she’d done from memory of seeing me and my dad passed out on the couch” He said with a soft laugh, looked down into his lap. “She was working on one of this place—of Joy’s, before she got too weak to even pick up a paintbrush.”

Stiles didn’t like to remember that way: weak, fragile and fading fast. He liked to remember her full of the energy that he seemed to have inherited but hadn’t yet contained. He like to remember her as vivacious and alive, painting with a love and a passion that showed in the final collection she’d been working on.

“Where are they now? The paintings, that is.” 

Stiles looked up from his lap, startled at Derek’s voice and even more startled at how Derek was looking at him: softly and with some sort of fascination, like he’d never really looked at Stiles before. It made Stiles squirm a little and sit up straighter. He took a sip of water before answering.

“Uh they’re in our attic” Stiles said, finally. “Along with all the rest of her stuff. It kind of hurt for a while to look at it.”

Derek nodded in understanding, though Stiles knew that wasn’t the case and felt a little like an ass because Derek didn’t have anything of his family’s to take out and look at now. Nothing that belonged to his parents or Laura or his other siblings cause it was all lost in a blaze that should have never occurred at all. Stiles would never understand the kind of heart, the kind of person who could consciously do something so horrible and live with themselves. Kate Argent deserved what she got a thousand times over, Stiles thought.

“Maybe it’s time to bring them back out?” Derek suggested, though he wasn’t looking at Stiles, he was fiddling with the condensation on his glass. Stiles had honestly never seen Derek so unlike Derek before. It was like they were both out of their element now that they weren’t biting each other’s head off.

“Yeah” Stiles said, smiling, because that actually sounded like a great idea. “Maybe so.”

Derek gave him the barest of smiles in return, but Stiles could tell there was something in them that was still warring. Some kind of conflict Stiles would probably never be let in on.

Mary, their elderly waitress brought their food then and they sat in quiet thoughtfulness while they ate, Stiles with his grilled chicken sandwich and French fries and Derek with a hamburger (cooked rare, because, of course) and fries. The silence was more comfortable but Stiles could still feel a buzzing of tension beneath it from Derek. So, of course, he continued to chat and Derek actually contributed.

Wonder of wonders, underneath that normally dour shell was someone who Stiles could have easily been getting along with this whole time. Cause Derek spoke sarcasm even more fluently than Stiles did and Stiles was practically a master at sarcasm, ask Scott. He knew pop culture references to a certain point because he’d not had a television in a while, apart from what he caught in the mornings at the local diner where he ate breakfast. All just a few things he’d learned about Derek in the few days that they’d been chatting.

This Derek blew the old Derek out of the water, in Stiles’ opinion. He also dressed in more colors, other colors besides just the typical grey and black that always made Derek synonymous with a storm cloud. Stiles had to force himself not to stare into his eyes when he’d worn this one dark green shirt one day because they just seemed to pop so much more greener that day. And yeah, he’d definitely started noticing that Derek had a nice ass, as accentuated by the nicer jeans he’d been wearing. Stiles had always known Derek was attractive but it was always blocked out by the sheer irritation and annoyance he felt with Derek’s demeanor and, well, asshole-ish-ness.

Stiles wasn’t an idiot; he knew he was heading into dangerous territories with thoughts like that about Derek Hale, of all people. But above all else, he was just perfectly fine with hanging with Derek like he was now so for once, attraction could take a backseat. Chitchatting about art and random shit that comes spilling out of his mouth with Derek commenting and nodding along amiably (interspersed with eye-rolling, of course, otherwise it wouldn’t be Derek) was something he was thoroughly enjoying.

It’s about 2:30 in the afternoon by the time they actually pay for their meals and step outside and awkwardly stand for a moment. 

“So…” Stiles says, scuffing his foot against the gravel outside the restaurant. “That was pretty fun, right? Color me surprised.”

Derek scoffs, almost gives a smile before looking away. “Yeah, I had fun, too, shockingly.”

Stiles grins like the little shit he knows he is but makes no move to walk away cause Derek isn’t. He knows why he’s standing there, unwilling to go home and stop spending time with Derek but he’s unsure about why Derek’s still beside him, glaring up at the building once again until he speaks.

“The last time I was here, it was a for a date. I was fifteen” Derek says and Stiles is so absolutely thrown because of how many different things that can be taken away from that one statement. The biggest ones screaming at Stiles were: Date, Stiles, Derek in the same sentence and then the fact that the last time he’d been here was before the Hale fire. And in that instant, everything clicked. Except it didn’t feel like click. It felt like a punch to the gut hard enough that Stiles was almost bent over from having the air knocked out of him.

“Kate” he breathes out. “You and Kate”

The look on Derek’s face is enough to hit Stiles again in the chest: broken, afraid and furious all at once. Derek stalks up to him like he’s going to shove him up against the wall of the diner but stops, hands clenched, jaw tights and eyes narrowed on him.

“You knew?”

Stiles just shakes his head, still gaping in shock at the realization, hoping his heartbeat proves to Derek just how much he didn’t know. How much his heart is breaking for Derek right now because everything Derek is now and everything he’s lost is burned into him because of what Kate did, just because she could. 

Derek nods once, like he’s accepting that Stiles is telling the truth but it also feels like an admission. He still looks cold and angry but it’s not directed at Stiles, his whole body tensed up toward the building like it’s something that personally offended him. It’s the sadness that he sees there, underneath those sharp green eyes and furrowed brows that has Stiles shaking his head. Because he’s still playing catch-up but he’s pretty good at playing detective. After all, he’s had all the pieces to this puzzle long enough that it’s not hard to piece it all together.

“You couldn’t have known, Derek. You were just a kid,” Stiles says before he’s thinking about it.

And then it’s like the first time Derek showed up in his bedroom all over again because his back is up against the brick of the building, his skin rubbing against it slightly where his shirt is riding up and Derek’s hands are fisted in the material, his face inches from Stiles. Instead of the annoyed and menacing glare he’d received that time, though, the look Derek was giving him now was too forced and Stiles could see the pain threatening to cut through it.

“It was my fault” Derek growls out. “I knew I shouldn’t have been seeing her and I did it anyway. I knew it was wrong and I fucking—“

“She was what, 20-something?” Stiles said, talking over him as he wrapped his hands around Derek’s fists to loosen them. “And like you said, you were fifteen. She knew what she was doing the whole time and she knew how to make a kid fall in love with her. She would have done whatever she had to, to get what she wanted.”

Derek was staring at Stiles like he’d grown a second head but he’d relinquished his grip in Stiles’ shirt and stepped away. Stiles stopped himself from closing the distance between them again, knew Derek needed space again.

“I get it, Derek” Stiles said, finally, making sure that he kept Derek’s gaze. “I don’t know how it feels but I know it wasn’t your fault for what she did. Hell is too easy a punishment for her.”

Derek watched Stiles, looked at him with a more open face than he’d ever done before and Stiles stood, feeling unsure of what to do. If he was surprised at Stiles’ conviction and belief in him, he didn’t show it, though. He hoped Derek believed him but he was smart enough to know that reassurance from a kid he barely knew probably wasn’t going to do much to ten years worth of guilt and anguish.

“Trust me, Stiles, I’m guilty of more than you know” he finally said quietly. “You don’t know anything.”

Stiles watched him walk away with the same closed off, blank expression he was used to seeing on Derek’s face for so long. He watched as he got into his car and peeled out of the parking lot and it wasn’t until another customer walked out and right by him that he noticed he’d been standing there for several minutes watching the road. 

Finally, he walked away, got into his Jeep and drove home, feeling numb to everything in the face of what he’d learned in just one afternoon. He had some sort of friendship with Derek and that was probably over with now and Stiles was actually a little bit upset. But he was more upset because Derek was more broken than anyone, even Stiles, had ever known and it didn’t seem like he was ever going to be fixed. He was upset because he’d never told anyone as much about his mom as he had Derek, had never known the freedom and comfort he had felt when he was talking to Derek. He was upset because above all else, he felt like he’d lost a friend.

And wasn’t that just one more thing to add to the list of things to blame Kate Argent for? He was actually a little bit thankful that Scott and Allison had broken up now, seeing how much Allison had taken after her aunt, after all. Psychopathic tendencies seemed to run in hunter’s bloodlines or something… 

Stiles shook his head, willing the thoughts away when he pulled up to his house. His dad was working a later shift that night so Stiles would be alone. He preferred it that way tonight, though, in light of all the thoughts struggling for dominance in his mind: Kate, fire, betrayal, Derek, guilt and how helpless Stiles felt to do anything about it. Especially since Derek had made it very clear how much he wanted Stiles’ help.

It was only 3 in the afternoon but Stiles padded up the stairs to his room, fell forward onto his bed and rolled over, curling in on himself. Dim light pour through the blinds of his window and he could make out gray clouds passing through the slats. He’d remembered hearing something about rain on the weather report for the next few days and as if on cue, thunder rolled softly in the distance. He looked away from the window and his eyes caught on something on his desk, bright and colorful. He didn’t make a move to get up when he figured out it was the page from Derek’s sketchbook his color wheel had been on, but simply turned over and faced the wall away from his desk. 

Derek dropping it off while Stiles was gone was as good as saying, “this little friendship thing we had is over now”, in Stiles’ book. He blew out a sigh and closed his eyes, letting sleep slowly claim him as the rush of rain and growl of thunder filled his ears.

For once, Stiles didn’t dream of the night he was captured by Gerard and tortured. Instead, he dreamt of fire, of pain and grief and the sound of a young woman’s soft, cold laughter in his ear.


	5. "Feeling like I am now, lighting up the hall. I was used to standing in the shadow of a damaged heart."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of fucking course Stiles would promise his dad that he would go to class and then end up not going. Because life liked to make an even bigger liar of Stiles than he already was, if the past six months were any evidence. And of course it would involve Derek Hale because life also liked to play cosmic jokes on Stiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update, but as you can see, this chapter ended up being hellishly long and I hope that makes up for my tardiness. Also I've been pretty sick these past couple days and it's affected that, as well. So yeah, this chapter is where shit gets real in a dramatic sort of way. I hope you enjoy it!

Tuesday morning, Stiles woke up before his alarm feeling more hungover than he had any right to without having had any alcohol the night before. He’d had a restless sleep when he’d gotten home the afternoon before, plagued with nightmares about cold, dead hands running over his skin as fire rose into the sky around him. It didn’t take a genius or even a Google search to know what they meant and it didn’t exactly give him any incentive to go to bed that night. He’d checked his phone when he woke at around 9:30 and was only slightly disappointed to see that there were no messages from Derek or even Scott. Just as well, he didn’t feel like talking.

Instead, Stiles pulled out his sketchbook and his charcoal pencils, spreading them out across his desk. He turned his iTunes library on shuffle to drown out the rain that was still pouring down outside and just lost himself, avoiding all the thoughts from that day that fought for attention. He didn’t let himself think about the horrifying revelation involving Kate or how Stiles himself was to blame for making Derek’s life hell after his return to Beacon Hills. He’d just thought about Derek, as a person. 

He’d thought about how the dude had (up until recently) lived in two consecutive run down places and still managed to get his hair to look picture perfect. He thought of the expressiveness of Derek’s eyebrows, those bright, furious eyes and how he could communicate without saying anything at all because he could just glare instead. Thought of the slope of Derek’s nose and the pout of his lips and how they curved upward lately because of things Stiles said or did. He thought of all these things and more as he drew and sometime after midnight, sat back in his chair to roll the kinks out of his shoulders where he’d been hunched over for the past two or so hours, only taking breaks to pee and get snacks.

He was pretty impressed with his work; given that he’d only just started drawing three weeks earlier and he’d been working without a picture. All across the page were different Derek’s that he’d seen, all drawn from memory. One of Derek glaring (a face Stiles was so familiar with, he’d never need a picture to draw reference from), one of Derek glancing down with a barely there smile on his face and another of Derek zoned out, at peace, as he looked when he was working on his own art. The last one was Stiles’ personal favorite and he’d been grateful for the chance to get to see it, even if he’d never get to see it again.

With a sigh, he turned the page, feeling like he’d gotten everything out of his system involving Derek for the night and decidedly done with it. He spent the next few hours flipping through earlier sketches in his book, tweaking them here and there. It wasn’t until he was nodding off in his chair, knees braced against the edge of his desk with his sketchpad in his lap that he made himself get up and lay down, give into the siren call of sleep. 

Stiles couldn’t remember his dreams the next morning and he was thankful for it, knowing all too well from just how rested he was not that they couldn’t have been any fun whatsoever. He trudged his way to shower then after getting dressed, went downstairs to quietly eat a quick breakfast. His dad still hadn’t been home when he’d settled in for the night at 2 a.m., so Stiles refused to be his wake up call. 

He chewed on a piece of toasted pop tart and held onto his mug of coffee with his free hand, soaking the warmth through the mug as he stared at the rain outside the kitchen window. It hadn’t let up since it’d started the afternoon before, the rushing sound of it outside only interrupted by the occasional rumble of thunder. It wasn’t alarming, though, but it also wasn’t all that soothing. More like gloomy and reflective of the mood Stiles had woken into. His real feeling about it was the dismay of having to drive through the crap to class. 

Part of him felt like staying home, refusing to face the world today, but Stiles wouldn’t let Derek’s attitude or his own stop him from doing this. He’d signed up for the class for a reason and he wasn’t going to chicken out now.

When he arrived to class, it became apparent that he wasn’t the only one feeling affected by the rain today as everyone he saw was either yawning or just moving around a little bit slower. 

“Rainy days and Mondays…” Ms. Wansley said, by way of a greeting as she walked up to him.

Stiles nodded. “Definitely seems to have a way of getting people down. Just not sure how I feel about having one after the other.”

Wansley gave him her usual smile that spoke of warmth and reminded him of his mother in a good way. “May I see your work so far?” she said, gesturing towards his sketchbook.

Stiles handed it over, tried not to feel to anxious like he always did when someone looked over his work. It was different though when Wansley glanced at it. It felt less like he was being criticized and more like she was seeing old photographs of him. Still a little embarrassing but not nearly as stomach churning as it would have felt knowing she was actually grading him on his abilities. He watched her expression the whole time but it didn’t change; her eyes roaming over page after page with the same soft smile. It was slightly too late that Stiles’ heart jumped up into his throat when he remembered the drawings he’d started on last night.

The same moment he’d realized it she snapped the sketchpad shut, the same look on her face she usually got when he noticed her watching him and Derek during class. She held the sketchbook out to him and Stiles tried not look too eager to get it back from her when he took it.

“Very nicely done, Stiles. I can see you have your mother’s natural talent but you definitely have some of your own with that affinity for charcoal.”

Stiles flinched and felt a blush creeping over him as he realized the double meaning in her words but didn’t shake off her hand when she gave his shoulder a squeeze.

“Your secret’s safe with me, Stiles” she said in a low voice. 

Stiles thought she was one second away from giving him a conspiratorial wink. He opened and closed his mouth a few times but no excuse would come out. Finally, he blew out a sigh and walked over to his easel, setting up his sketchbook against it and pulling out the color wheel he’d started on yesterday. The one Derek had helped with, his mind supplied. He was so focused on gathering his paint and water for the class that it wasn’t til the class started that he realized Derek was absent.

He looked to the left of his easel to see the one Derek usually occupied, barely a foot away from his and the whole sight was so shockingly depressing to Stiles he was having to restrain himself from pouting like a five-year-old. He knew that things with Derek the day before probably could have gone better (no, they couldn’t that’s definitely not true) but he didn’t think he would have gone as far as to now show up to class because of it. 

Stiles, instead, focused on his color wheel because he was going to finish it, damn it, with or without Derek beside him making small comments to the banter Stiles would usually keep up. He concentrated on breathing and keeping his arm as languid and fluid as the paint he worked with, mixing them with the appropriate colors to form a balanced color wheel. Most people in the class though this assignment was stupid, claiming they’d learned in elementary school what colors to mix to make other colors but Wansley said she wanted to be sure everyone knew just how much to mix to create the right shade of colors and Stiles saw her point.

Speaking of other people, both Paula the cougar and Ms. Wansley herself had shot Stiles speculative looks for the whole first hour of class. Stiles knew it had to due with Derek’s absence and while he was giving them the benefit of the doubt, he couldn’t help but feel like they thought it was his fault Derek wasn’t there. They wouldn’t be wrong, Stiles thought to himself as his stomach gave another tug in guilt.

Ms. Wansley had announced that once they’d finished their color wheel, they could look through magazines for inspiration for their painting. Stiles, along with most of the class had already finished their assignments so he found himself among the crowd of about fifteen people digging through boxes of old magazines. A few people were making sure to really delve through and pick out specific magazines (Stiles thought one elderly woman was just racking up magazines for recipes, to be honest) but Stiles just grabbed the first five he saw and retreated back to his easel to look through them.

Cause the truth was, as much as it was bugging him to admit it even to himself, he missed Derek and the class just wasn’t the same without him. He wasn’t able to focus as well on his work without the freaking werewolf with the worst attitude by his side, being a solid weight of warmth and sarcasm for two hours. It was beyond ridiculous that Derek Hale, of all people, was someone Stiles had grown to like spending time with but that was just Stiles’ life. He looked for dead bodies, egged on agitated werewolves and back talked ruthless hunters until they beat him up. Add to that list that Stiles maybe, sort of, had a thing for a grumpy alpha and it was pretty par for the course, wasn’t it?

His inability to focus on his work only got worse when he flipped through the magazines only to find more things that reminded him of Derek. A magazine made by a local company for the Beacon Hills Preserve filled with some pretty decent photography of the woods and local wildlife reminded him easily of the Hale house. Another magazine was filled with different cars and convertibles and of course, there was one of a black Camaro just like Derek’s. Stiles gave up when the third magazine, a National Geographic, had a cover story about wolves. By that time, the class was over and he hadn’t even started on his assignment.

Ms. Wansley looked like she wanted to say something to Stiles on his way out, but he didn’t stop to give her the chance to. He knew he was probably being rude to one of his mom’s oldest friends but he just couldn’t deal with someone’s sympathetic eyes or someone asking about Derek when they didn’t know the whole story. And if Wansley thought they were dating, she was far from knowing the full story.

*

It was the second day in a row without lacrosse practice, this time due to the fact that the weather had probably turned the lacrosse field to what was practically marsh. It had taken Stiles about two hours of turning on the TV, channel surfing, going on the internet, having some well-needed Stiles alone time, flipping through his sketchpad to work on art before giving up and texting Scott.

“Hey dude. Video games and pizza my place?”

Stiles waited a few minutes and was actually debating a second round of masturbation when his phone buzzed on his desk. He snatched it up before it’d finished vibrating and deflated when he saw the reply.

“Sure thing mind if I invite Isaac”

Stiles sat for a few minutes trying to come up with a decent answer to give his best friend but he was half-inclined to just cancel it altogether. The thing was, Stiles didn’t mind Isaac at all; he was cool when he wasn’t power-tripping on werewolf strength or threatening to kill his friends at the drop of a hat. But for the longest time, it had just been Stiles and Scott. The Troubling Two, as Scott’s mom had nicknamed them when they were younger. They’d been each other’s closest friends since kindergarten and Stiles was never really upset about it.

But since Scott’s upgrade to werewolf status and especially after the Gerard debacle, he’d gotten closer to Isaac, for some reason. Now that they were working together, Scott was spending more time with Isaac than he was with Stiles and Stiles wasn’t too big to admit that he was a bit jealous. And really, all Stiles wanted right now was some bro time with his best friend. But he supposed he could deal. Maybe. He told Scott that it was fine, anyway and was so glad that werewolves couldn’t detect lies through text messages.

And so that’s how it ended up that, a few hours later, Scott, Stiles and Isaac were all three piled up in his bedroom (after Stiles had made sure to remove all evidence of recent jack off sessions so as not to get that knowing, teasing look Scott gave him these days when he came over) with pizza and Call of Duty. And maybe Stiles was wrong to think that it wouldn’t be as fun with Isaac around because he was absolutely having fun kicking both his and Scott’s ass right now. 

Seems like there were a few things that even being a werewolf didn’t make you any better at and video games were one of them.

“HaHA!” Stiles crowed with his hands thrown in the air, getting in another kill on Scott, who, instead of pouting was twisting his face up even further in concentration. 

Isaac, who was the most competitive out of all three of them looked two seconds away from breaking Stiles’ hands just so he could win at the video game. Stiles wasn’t backing down, though, in the least.

“How the hell did you get so good at this game, Stiles?” Scott said, elbowing him and pressing buttons frantically. “Last time we played, we were evenly matched!”

“Uh no” Stiles said, pushing him back with his own elbow but barely getting anywhere against Scott’s wolfy strength. “No, buddy, we were never ‘evenly matched’, I’m sorry to say you’ve always sucked.”

Isaac groaned as Stiles took him down yet again, and then Scott threw down his controller as he stood up to walk out. Stiles thought he was forcing himself not to fold his arms and pout and he cackled wickedly. 

“Don’t be a poor loser” Stiles said, poking him in the side.

“I’m not,” Scott said, whining, in Stiles’ opinion. “I’m gonna go get another slice of pizza, you want one?”

Isaac shook his head no, stretching out on the floor to lie down; Stiles opted for a more verbal answer. “No, no, I’m good. Go tend to your wounds with meat and cheesy goodness.”

Scott scoffed and stalked out, muttering something about being better at lacrosse and Stiles tossed a shoe out the door at him, laughing when he heard Scott yell out. He collapsed back into his computer chair, spinning around and fiddling with his controller. He stopped when he caught Isaac’s thoughtful look directed at him.

“What?” Stiles said. “Want some tips on how to not die? Cause I’ll be glad to share them with you if it means we can gang up on Scott.”

Isaac stared at him for a moment longer, tilted his head towards the door as if to listen to something far away before scooting closer to Stiles. “Derek’s not at his apartment.”

Stiles’ spine straightened at the directness of Isaac’s words but then he made himself relax when he remembered just how things were between him and Derek. 

“So?” he said, hoping for nonchalance but knowing Isaac could hear the thud of a lie in his pulse.

“So, have you seen him lately?” Isaac said, raising an eyebrow at Stiles. “He’s not at the depot either, or the house. I can’t find him anywhere. Not even answering his phone.”

Stiles frowned at that, leaned forward. “I haven’t seen him since yesterday, Isaac. Not since…” He refrained from saying, ‘not since I put together the trauma he’s kept hidden for nearly a decade’ and simply said, “How long ago did you check?”

“I stopped by his apartment last night after work to check in with him” Isaac said, with a shrug. “Thought he just wasn’t in the mood to deal with anyone but then today I went by and his scent was undisturbed like no one had come in or out. Then I checked the other places but he hasn’t been there recently at all.”

Stiles sat with the information for a moment, trying not to let his worry get the best of him. And wasn’t that laughable, being worried over Derek Hale. Stiles really just couldn’t get away from the guy these days, could he? 

He sighed. “Have you talked to Scott about this?”

Isaac opened his mouth to answer but Scott cut him off. “No, he hasn’t talked to me about it because we don’t talk about Derek.”

Scott stood in the doorway looking every bit like the douche-y badass alpha werewolf Derek had been portraying just months earlier. All Stiles could think about was how easily he could see through that with Derek then and how he could see through it with Scott now. “Just like I thought you and I agreed about?”

Stiles raised his eyebrows at him, kept his voice at his normal tone but made sure Scott knew just how not okay that was. “I didn’t agree to shit, Scotty, my buddy. You bitched about Derek, I listened and I disagreed.”

Scott looked like Stiles slapped him in the face, which, to be fair, Stiles didn’t normally talk to Scott the way he was but this shit was getting old. They were best friends, not alpha and beta, like Scott had been treating him as lately.

“Stiles, I told you I don’t trust him,” Scott said with that pleading look on his face that said ‘please understand and love me for the puppy I am’.

“Well… I do.” Stiles said, lifting his chin in defiance

“Stiles—“

“No, Scott.” Stiles said, clenching his teeth as he got to his feet. “You’re my best friend and I love you but you can’t expect me to just sit here while you get Isaac as a new best friend but I can’t even freaking talk to Derek because you’re both too busy having some sort of pissing contest? How is that even okay, in the least?”

Isaac looked confused at that and a little hurt and Scott looked absolutely livid. His fists were clenched and he looked like he was seconds away from flashing his eyes at Stiles. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Stiles. That’s not it at all.”

“Well finally someone fucking acknowledges that I’m in the dark!” Stiles growled, throwing his arms out. He was shaking, seething with anger now, having kept in the things he was saying for weeks to months. “Poor, weak human Stiles can’t keep up with the werewolves, so he can’t be let in on the secrets!”

The anger washed from Scott’s face, leaving him looking completely shocked. “Stiles, no, that’s not it, I promise...” Scott said, pleading. “It’s… complicated.”

“Complicated is the understatement of the century when it comes to our lives. It’s not an excuse anymore” Stiles said, anger deflating as he blew out a breath and sat down again in his computer chair, rubbing his hands through his hair in frustration. “Whatever, Scott. Not like Derek will talk to me anymore, anyway. He probably just wanted to get away after I put my foot in my mouth, Isaac.”

“What?” Isaac said, finally speaking up now.

“Yeah, he’s pissed at me” Stiles said, glaring at them both. “Are you happy now, Scott? He doesn’t want to talk to me cause I can’t keep my big mouth shut. Guess you finally get what you wanted.”

An awkward silence followed for a few seconds after that, Stiles staring at the blue screen left over from where the x-box console shut down, Scott staring at Stiles with his mouth opening and closing as he attempted to talk then shut it down and Isaac standing off to the side, looking between them. Finally, Scott reached out to touch Stiles but Stiles pulled away.

“Stiles…”

“Just go home, Scott…” he muttered, not bothering to look at them anymore, staring at the blank screen of his television. “I’m not in the mood.”

It took a few seconds of Scott obviously trying to think of ways to talk his way back into Stiles’ favor but then Isaac finally grabbed him around the shoulder and turned them both out the door. Stiles didn’t glance at them when they looked back at him, didn’t call them back when he heard the front door open and close or when he heard Isaac’s car start up and pull out. 

It was a few minutes after that when it hit Stiles that he’d essentially just had a fight over Derek with Scott and he laughed to himself for a moment before kicking his x-box controller on the floor against the wall across the room, satisfied with the impact it made. Because this was all just so perfect, wasn’t it? He’d fucked up one friendship that had just started going along and then he’d fucked up the only friendship he’d had since kindergarten. It was so typical in a way Stiles wanted to keep laughing and then cry at the same time.

It was after he’d cleaned his room up with a single-mindedness his dad would be proud of had he been off work to witness it, cramming pizza boxes into a trash bag along with empty soda cans and collapsing onto his bed that he thought to himself whether or not to call Derek or something. Isaac had said he hadn’t been answering his phone and if he wouldn’t even answer the last of his betas he had left, why would answer a call from Stiles?

Stiles, being the stubborn yet upstanding guy he was, decided to try anyway and was thoroughly disappointed when there was no answer from Derek even if though he’d expected it. He sent Derek another text, asking him to give Isaac a call soon to calm him down when he got a chance and then turned to his sketchbook for the rest of the night. Instead of drawing or painting, though, he just flipped through his works. He traced his eyes over the first still life he’d done, let them graze over the wolf he was very much proud of (even if it’d come out looking like it had Derek’s eyes in the end) and finally, stopped to run his hands over the color wheel Derek had helped him start but Stiles had finished on his own. 

After that, for the first time in three weeks, instead of working on art, he went to sleep. And thoroughly regretted it in the morning when he’d awoken with his fists clenched in the sheets from sheer terror, only relaxing when his eyes saw he was indeed in his room and the smell the mix of his favorite detergent and the smell of home was in his lungs. He sat up and groaned softly, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. Another Gerard dream and it wasn’t any easier to deal with than the first time he’d had one.

Stiles checked his messages and blew out a sigh of both relief and dejection when he saw he had no messages. Not even one from Scott. Normally, Scott would be blowing up Stiles’ phone with text after text of apology after they’d had a fight that was his fault. And it had been. Stiles wasn’t going to apologize for befriending Derek and for seeking answers to questions elsewhere. Questions he hadn’t even gotten the chance to broach before the tentative friendship had ended altogether. 

Scott was hiding things from Stiles and they’d never done that before. Never had secrets from one another because there was no need. No mistrust or fear of judgment. Stiles wasn’t sure what the secret was, nor did he know how long Scott had been hiding it but it was something big enough that Scott wasn’t even bothering to make amends and that only served to make Stiles angrier and more frustrated than he was already.

The rain had cleared up the day before, around lunchtime but Stiles could tell that today was still going to be equally as gloomy and that didn’t serve to improve his mood any. After his shower, he trudged downstairs and nodded in lieu of a ‘good morning’ at his dad, who was frying up bacon in a skillet, eggs scrambled in another. Still in his sheriff’s uniform after a late shift and yet still able to make breakfast, his dad watched him as he collapsed into a chair at the table without realizing he hadn’t poured himself some coffee.

“You look terrible, son” his dad said, when serving Stiles his bacon and eggs and being the best dad ever, a cup of coffee.

Stiles didn’t even have the energy to give him a scowl at the words, just gave him a nod as he took a long slurp of coffee. 

“Everything okay?” His dad said, taking a seat across from him at the table, looking weary from being up late but still digging into his own plate of eggs and bacon.

“Don’t think I don’t notice you’re eating bacon” Stiles said softly, eyes narrowed as he shoved a forkful of eggs in his mouth. 

His dad spitefully shoved a strip into his mouth with a fork and looked pointedly at Stiles, who finally sighed and ran a hand through his still wet hair. 

“I’m thinking about maybe quitting the art class,” Stiles said, which he must’ve been more tired than he thought because what? That hadn’t been what he was planning on saying at all, but the next few seconds his mind was playing catch up to his mouth, he realized that’s exactly how he felt. 

“What?” his dad said, looking completely confused and suspicious. “Stiles, you love that class. You’ve come this far and the art show is next week, so why in the world would you want to just quit?”

Stiles shrugged, keeping his eyes on his coffee but he knew he didn’t look nearly as unaffected as he was trying for. “Scott doesn’t exactly like that me and Derek have been hanging out together and this class is just proving to be more trouble than it’s worth”

He decided to amend the fact that the class just wasn’t nearly as fun as it had been in the beginning now that Derek wasn’t showing up anymore. He wasn’t psychic or anything but he was pretty sure Derek wasn’t going to be in class again today and Stiles was going to have to contend with those looks from Ms. Wansley and Paula and hell, everyone for the duration of the class period. Seriously, he must have missed the part where he and Derek became the star couple of the class because everyone was acting as much. Then again, Stiles was probably projecting. Again.

“Wait a second” his dad said, his eyebrows pulled together in concern. “Did you just say you’ve been ‘hanging out’ with Derek Hale? As in, not just having a class with him?

Oh yeah. Stiles hadn’t told him that. And Stiles’ defense, “Uh…”

“Stiles…” his dad said, in that admonishing long-winded way that meant a lecture was coming on. 

Stiles held a hand out, cutting him off before he could start though. “It doesn’t matter. Derek’s kinda mad at me anyway and we’re not hanging out anymore.”

His dad inclined his head in a way that said something had dawned on him and then nodded slowly. “So this isn’t so much about Scott, as it is Derek?”

Stiles winced. “Dad, he’s… different than I thought he was. I had kind of hoped we could start being friends cause we both get each other in a lot of ways. Shockingly.”

“Yeah” his dad said, shaking his head and looking at Stiles in that way that Stiles had fondly named ‘who is this kid and how is he my son’. “To no one. I should have known.”

“Er, what? Known what, exactly?”

His dad sighed and got up to put his now empty plate in the sink. “Go to the damn art class, Stiles. You didn’t start going for Derek Hale, don’t stop going for him.”

Stiles opened his mouth to argue, but his dad cut him off just as effectively as Stiles was able to do to him normally. “Or Scott. Or anyone.”

Stiles saw his features soften before he turned to leave. “You love art, son. I can see it when you’re curled up on the couch with your sketchpad, being more quiet than I ever thought you capable of, for crying out loud. Just like your mother in that way.”

Stiles watched him, chewed at his lip and switched his weight from one foot to the other as he listened. Finally, he nodded. 

“Yeah” he said, softly. “Okay. I won’t.”

“Good” his dad said, satisfactorily. “Cause I expect to see your stuff hanging in a corner of that exhibit so I can show everyone just how talented at non-delinquent activities my son is.”

Stiles cracked a grin at that, walked over to give his dad a hug. “Love you, dad.”

“Love you, too, son” he said, giving Stiles a squeeze. He stretched and yawned when Stiles pulled away. “Now, I’m going to go sleep for about twelve hours. Get to class.”

*

Of fucking course Stiles would promise his dad that he would go to class and then end up not going. Because life liked to make an even bigger liar of Stiles than he already was, if the past six months were any evidence. And of course it would involve Derek Hale because life also liked to play cosmic jokes on Stiles.

The rain seemed to come out of nowhere because, despite the cloudy skies, the weather report had said there was very little chance of it in the morning hours. And yet, just moments after leaving, Stiles was driving fifteen under the speed limit in an absolute downpour. He was pressed close to his steering wheel, peering out past the cascade of rainwater across his windshield when he saw the dark blur race across his field of vision and promptly slammed on his brakes.

Stiles flailed for a minute in his seat as his heart threatened to burst from his chest. The dark blur that had leapt into the middle of the road was still on the dark pavement in front of the Jeep and even through the rain, Stiles could tell it was a person. It didn’t even take him a moment to tell who exactly it was, either.

“Motherfucker!” he yelled, putting the car in park and finally unbuckling his seatbelt after a few failed tries. Then he was out of the car and into the downpour.

They were on the road on the outskirts of town, woods on each side of the road, wind whipping around as the rain crashed against the jeep and the asphalt. Derek was crouched in front of Stiles, his eyes lit up in red and mouth turned out in a snarl. He was also holding onto some dark fabric, had it clenched in his right hand. But what Stiles couldn’t take his eyes away from wasn’t even Derek’s wet, bare torso (thought that was nice), it was the rows of bloody gashes in the left side of Derek’s chest that had Stiles freaking out.

“Holy God, what happened to you?” he groaned, already reaching his hands out towards Derek who didn’t move to rip Stiles’ throat out when he came close, thankfully. In fact, the moment Stiles’ hands touched Derek’s overly warmed skin, the tension just went out of Derek and he pitched forward onto Stiles.

“Whoa, okay, dude” Stiles gritted out, trying to keep both him and Derek upright. “You’re the one with supernaturally-enhanced strength here, I need you to be conscious.”

Derek didn’t respond, just became a heavier weight against Stiles that Stiles was losing a battle against holding. To make things worse, he was pretty sure Derek’s blood was soaking into his t-shirt and plus, this was a high traffic road so any moment now a car was going to be coming around the bend up ahead and they wouldn’t be able to just explain this away. So Stiles did what worked for him the last time Derek lost consciousness around him.

The punch Stiles managed to land against Derek’s cheek, just as he was positive of last time, most likely hurt Stiles more than Derek in the long run, if the way Stiles was hissing in pain and his knuckles were screaming in pain were anything to go by. Derek growled out an incoherent response but managed to push himself a little more upright.

“Kill me after I get us off the road, okay?” Stiles gritted out as he maneuvered his and Derek’s body to the passenger side of the jeep. 

He grappled with the door for a second before pulling it open and basically cramming Derek’s body inside. Derek pushed Stiles away with an indignant glare and heaved himself into his seat with the slightest hiss of pain at the rustling his wounds. Stiles closed the door behind him and rushed around to the driver’s side and shivered immediately after the he had his own door shut.

He and Derek were soaked to the bone, shivering and Stiles couldn’t help but feel a bit of déjà vu from the last time Stiles had saved Derek’s life. Well, they’d saved each other’s life last time, in a way, and he hadn’t so much saved Derek’s life this time as he had saved Derek from getting picked up by the next passersby who wouldn’t deal with this nearly as well. But still, definitely a sense of déjà vu here.

It wasn’t until a couple of minutes had passed and the heater in Stiles’ jeep had sputtered into action and delivered a steady flow of warmth to them that Stiles finally broke the silence. He looked over at Derek, who was still very pale from the lack of blood and had one hand pressed to his chest and the other still holding tight to the fabric he’d been gripping the whole time.

“What’s that?” Stiles said, jerking his head at the hand holding the fabric. Derek didn’t answer though, jaw remaining tight and eyes steely on the road ahead of them through the rain-washed windshield.

“Derek” Stiles pressed. “What’s the hell is going on? Do I need to get ready to fight for my life again, or?”

That got a growl out of Derek, had his chin lowering as if he was planning to attack something but all he said was, “I’m handling it.”

“Yeah” Stiles said, scoffing out a harsh laugh. “I can see that. I’ve also seen your version of handling things in the past so if we could go ahead and skip that bullshit and get to the part where you tell me what’s happening—“

“Turn right here” Derek gritted out, instead of answering Stiles.

“What?” Stiles said, glancing around. They were now in the downtown area of Beacon Hills, where Stiles should have been heading to anyway, to go to art class but instead he was saving werewolves. Again. 

“My apartment” Derek said, in that tone that never failed to make Stiles feel stupid. “Can’t exactly go to the hospital.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, but followed Derek’s directions. “I still expect some sort of explanation, Derek.”

Derek didn’t answer, turned his gaze down to the fabric in his hands and Stiles turned away when he saw the muscles in Derek’s jaw working like he was thinking about something painful. Suddenly, Stiles wondered if he wanted to know what was going on. 

A few minutes later, they arrived at a huge, brick apartment building in the middle of a nice neighborhood in downtown Beacon Hills. All Stiles could think about was how this was totally something better than the hellholes Derek’s been living in and totally not a good place for deadly creatures to be roaming the streets. It made for a very confusing, conflicting bunch of emotions.

Stiles tossed a spare gray hoodie he had in his backseat at Derek, who scowled back at him. Stiles shrugged, didn’t apologize. “We’re not stepping out into public with you shirtless and looking like you got into a fight with a ‘mountain lion’”.

Derek complied, but acted like a spoiled brat for having to do so, grumping at the way the hoodie was tight on his skin. Stiles thought it looked pretty good on him, personally, but then felt guilty when he saw how much pain and discomfort it was causing him. He leapt out of the car the same time Derek opened his door and hurried to Derek’s side. Derek pulled his arm out of Stiles’ grasp when he tried to help him and stubbornly pressed up the steps to the building, the rain still pouring down. Stiles huffed, but followed behind him.

They walked inside a small stairwell area with an elevator off to the side. Derek pulled the gates of the elevator to the side and closed them after Stiles followed him inside, then pressed the button for the top floor of the building. Stiles raised his eyebrows at that, but didn’t make a comment, knowing that even if he did, he wouldn’t get an answer. Derek’s newfound strength was already going out of him though and once again, Stiles found himself supporting both of their weight though Derek was stubbornly trying to keep conscious.

Stiles’ jaw dropped at the loft apartment Derek had chosen. Because it was so typically Derek with it’s wide open layout, exposed brick wall (complete with hole in the wall because it couldn’t just be regular loft apartment with Derek) and spiral staircase running through the middle to a room upstairs. Stiles once again didn’t comment and Derek definitely wasn’t about to give him a grand tour, as evidenced by the way he was already ripping the hoodie over his head and tossing it on the floor when he stepped inside.

Stiles followed him towards the kitchen area, eyes bouncing around the apartment, still taking in the sparse leather furniture and desk area on the platform ahead of them in front of the huge window stretching from floor to ceiling, out of which he could see the rain falling steadily outside. The kitchen area was all stainless steel counters and appliances with a matching steel counter in the center. 

“In the cabinet” Derek said hoarsely, reaching an arm out to gesture above the counter. “There’s a first aid kit.”

Stiles retrieved the heavy duty first aid kit that had already been opened and stocked by Derek with extra things like wolfsbane, needles and fishing line. Stiles’ stomach dropped as he realized what he was going to have to do. He brought the first aid kit over to where Derek was propping himself up against the island in the middle of the kitchen.

“Why aren’t you healing?” Stiles asked, glancing between Derek and the first aid kit he was pulling rubbing alcohol and cotton from. “What’s the good of being an all-mighty alpha werewolf if you can’t heal from a few cuts?”

Derek glared at him, but it softened into something weaker from just how exhausted he was. “Are you gonna help me or not?”

“Yes I will” Stiles said, nodding. “But just because I want you alive to tell me what the hell is going on that could cause that.” He nodded towards Derek’s wound.

Stiles knew Derek could see past the lie and rolled his eyes as Stiles prepped the needle and fishing line. Then turned toward Derek’s chest, shaking his head in disapproval.

“This really can’t be sanitary, Derek” Stiles said, already holding up the threaded needle. “Are you sure we shouldn’t just go to Deaton or something? He’d be able to fix you way better than I could.”

Derek’s face darkened at the mention of Deaton’s name and Stiles caught it. “I don’t trust Deaton”, Derek said plainly. “If you don’t want to do it, Stiles, I’ll do it myself”

Stiles sighed but the thought that Derek had basically said he trusted Stiles had him stepping closer and putting a hand to Derek’s chest. “I’m not exactly an expert at this, do I just… sew it together?”

Derek rolled his eyes and guided Stiles’ hand holding the needle to his skin, wincing just slightly when the needle pierced outside the edge of the first cut, through the other side of the wound and straight through. Stiles reminded himself to breathe and think clearly with Derek’s warmth seeping through him from his hand and his chest. After a minute, Stiles got the hang of it himself and shook Derek’s hand off. Making sure the thread didn’t have any slack and that the wound was sealing close together, he continued stitching.

He could feel Derek’s eyes on him the whole time, felt his skin jump around the wound every time Stiles pierced it with a needle and the heavy weight in Stiles’ gut that had grown since two days before loosened just a little bit. Before he knew what he was doing, he was talking, as he usually did in awkward, tense situations.

“So…” he started, cleared his throat. “I’m sorry for the other day. I didn’t mean to bring everything up.”

Derek tensed up a little, but didn’t say anything. Stiles noticed he was still watching Stiles like a hawk. Stiles swallowed past his nervousness, continued rambling. “I already hated her for what she did but now I wish she’d suffered more for what happened to you and—“

Derek’s hand was back on Stiles’ and Stiles glanced at it before snapping his gaze up to Derek’s, which was surprisingly open, his eyes a storm of grays, greens and blues. 

“Stiles. It’s okay.” he ground out. “Now shut up.”

Stiles felt a genuine smile start to light up his face and he fought it off, cutting off the fishing line he’d tied at the end of his stitch at the same time. 

“Nice try” Stiles said, moving to start on another of the worst cuts. “But if you think that’s just going to shut me up, you obviously don’t know me that well.”

Derek sighed but Stiles could tell he was trying not to look amused now. Stiles liked that they were more like they’d been the other day at the diner and was ridiculously pleased about it, even if he was covered in Derek’s blood and in cold, wet clothes. Stiles saw that Derek was back to glaring at the piece of cloth in his hand, which he could now recognize as leather.

“So why exactly are you clinging to that like it’s a lifeline?” Stiles said as he continued to work the needle and line through Derek’s flesh.

Derek’s jaw was back to working in that way that made Stiles cringe because he could only imagine how sore his jaw would be if he were the one doing it. But Derek caught him off guard by answering him.

“It was Erica’s”

Stiles froze his ministrations and pulled back to look Derek in the eyes, but didn’t like what he saw reflected in them. It was the same look that had haunted Derek’s face after Laura’s death, after he’d come back to Beacon Hills all those months ago. Grief.

“What does that mean, Derek?” Stiles said, ignoring the way his voice shook. “I thought she and Boyd got the hell out of dodge the night all that shit went down?”

Derek shook his head, looking back down at the torn and—now that Derek’s hand was open, Stiles could see—bloody piece of leather in his hand. 

“That’s what I thought, too” Derek said. “But for the past few days, I’ve been catching Erica’s scent, along with someone else’s, all over town and deep in the preserve. Then, last night, I found this.”

Stiles took his gaze off of the leather and returned to Derek’s wound. “It was a trap” Stiles stated, to which Derek replied with a nod.

“A trap” Derek echoed. “I didn’t even see her until it was too late…”

Stiles stopped again, not yet finished with the cut but Derek was finally spilling information. 

“Who?” Stiles said. Derek flinched like he knew he’d screwed up but Stiles stepped closer until Derek had no choice but to look at him. “Derek, who attacked you?”

Derek pushed Stiles away, walking straighter and with more vigor than when Stiles had found him earlier that afternoon. “I think I can take care of the rest, Stiles. You can go to class now.”

“Oh no” Stiles said, shaking his head and closing the distance between them. “You’re not freezing me out like this, Derek. If something’s going on, I have a right to know. Scott needs to know, too, we can help!”

Derek had been ignoring him and was now walking toward the spiral staircase in the center of the apartment when he froze at the mention of Scott’s name. He turned and pinned Stiles with a glare so harsh and cold that Stiles could tell he was having to restrain himself from letting himself wolf out.

“I wouldn’t ask for Scott or Deaton’s help again if they were my last hope for allies on this earth” Derek gritted out. He looked down at where his wounds were finally beginning to knit together and ripped a claw through Stiles’ stitches to let them heal. 

“Not after what they did to me…” he said low enough that Stiles barely heard it.

Stiles stepped closer, feeling his something dark and cold like nausea drop in his gut. Because this was what he had been hoping for: the whole story, and yet he was dreading the truth.

“What did they do?” Stiles said, afraid to talk too loudly in the silence of the apartment. Derek’s smile was cold and angry and it scared Stiles at what he was about to learn.

“Oh?” he said, sauntering over in a way that wasn’t sexy and only served to make Stiles want to punch him. “You didn’t know about Scott’s master plan?”

“Forget it” Stiles said, turning to leave. “I’m tired of helping you only for you to continue to be an asshole to me, Derek. I’ll ask Scott myself.”

“Yeah, you do that” Derek called after him. “Ask how he used me as a weapon. Ask how he and Deaton planned Gerard’s downfall behind everyone’s back, including yours!”

Stiles froze in front of the elevator where he had been pressing the button. He turned to face Derek now. “What?”

Derek was standing with his fists clenched, his whole body shaking with the anger that was beginning to fill his voice. Stiles could see hurt and betrayal mixed in there, too, and felt all of it echoed in him. At Scott.

“Scott’s not exactly the hero you’d hoped he would be, is he?” Derek said, before turning away and walking up the staircase, leaving Stiles alone, cold and in hurt and outrage.


	6. "Learning all I know now, losing all I did. I never used to feel like I'd be standing so far ahead."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles confronts Scott about the things he's been keeping from him and then Derek just gets plain confrontational.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know, another late update! I am so sorry but on the bright side, there's only one chapter left after this! Let me know what you think of this chapter cause I'm a bit uncertain.

Stiles had stood in the doorway of the elevator to Derek’s apartment for a handful of seconds before he was jamming his finger against the button furiously until the gates shut in front of him. His entire body was shaking with the anger and betrayal that had been set afire through him since Derek’s verbal slap in the face just moments ago. Since Derek basically told him that Scott had been lying to him for months about some pretty important shit and was still, at this moment, lying to him. 

Stiles wasn’t the type of person to just go around believing other people’s lies over his best friend. He just wasn’t. He knew Scott better than he knew the back of his hand, had been friends with the dude since kindergarten, for fuck’s sake. But it explained so much when it came to Scott’s behavior of late toward him and Derek, among other things. And once again, Stiles knew his best friend and knew he was hiding something from him. All the pieces seemed to fit.

Plus some part of him still wanted to believe that whatever thing between him and Derek that had been building meant something and meant that Derek wouldn’t just make something up to hurt Stiles. But then again, what did Stiles know? This might’ve been Derek’s plan all along. To get close to Stiles, have Isaac do the same to Scott and break up their friendship, get Scott all to himself. 

Stiles’ mind was a cluster of things loud and overwhelming, a storm of thoughts fighting for dominance in the forefront. But all he could think about was the beginning of all of this, when Scott had first gotten bitten. How he’d had Scott’s back from the start and how Scott had trusted him and only him with everything. And now, look at them. Scott was off building master plans with Isaac and Deaton and Stiles was out getting his ass kicked by elderly psychotics and finding shit out from Derek Hale. And then, Derek, who’d gotten so much pleasure from dropping the bomb on Stiles and watching it dawn on him. Stiles clenched his fist even tighter from the onslaught of fury, dismay and humiliation that just kept coming.

He threw open the gates of the elevator when it reached the ground floor, was out the door of the apartment building and into his Jeep in seconds, not even feeling the rain that was still falling outside. He started the vehicle and pulled off out of the parking space near the curb and onto the road. His dad had always warned him not to drive while upset and Stiles could see the point in the way he kept zoning out into his own thoughts about Scott and Derek instead of focusing on driving in the horrid weather. 

Then Stiles remembered that, since January, he’s been driving from hunters, werewolves and fucking kanimas and that he could drive through the rain without dying just fine, thank you.

He just didn’t know where to go. He couldn’t go to class now, not with the way he was feeling. But he couldn’t go home just yet, either, not without getting questioned by his dad. And Stiles couldn’t lie to him anymore, not even about what was going on, so it was best just to stay away from there. Before he could really think about what he was doing or where he was going, though, he was pulling into the parking lot of the Beacon Hills Animal Clinic. He sat with the engine off for a few moments, just staring out the window as rain pelted it, muddled his view of the building. Finally, he stepped out of the Jeep and walked a steady gait to the door of the clinic, pulling it open and walking into the lobby. 

There weren’t any other cars in the parking lot besides Isaac’s but he knew Scott had been taking rides with Isaac to work each day and that Deaton was currently away on business for the week (whether for supernatural or veterinary business, Stiles didn’t know or really care). Isaac looked up with a curious and concerned look from the counter when Stiles walked in, had opened his mouth to speak before Stiles cut him off with a gesture.

“Scott, get out here. We need to talk,” he said, in a hard voice, knowing he didn’t have to yell for Scott to hear him in the back. Isaac frowned, but didn’t bother attempting to speak again.

A moment later, Scott was pushing through the door from the back with a worried look on his face. “Stiles, what’s going on? Is everything okay?”

Stiles forwent the questions. “I want you to tell me everything you’ve been hiding from me for the past two months, Scott.”

Scott’s mouth dropped open just slightly in shock before he schooled his face to look blank and indifferent. It reminded Stiles so much of the Derek they first knew that Stiles wanted to punch him right then and there. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t fucking—“ Stiles started with a growl, slamming his palms down on the counter hard enough that the werewolves jumped. Stiles was shaking again and he hoped Scott knew just how beyond done he was with the bullshit. “I want the truth, Scott. I deserve the truth.”

Scott turned, gave Isaac a simple nod (God, it was uncanny now how alike he and Derek were now, the dickheads) and Isaac looked between them briefly before retreating to the back, leaving Stiles and Scott to themselves. Even then, Stiles stood silent and fuming, glaring at Scott who stood behind the counter staring back with his arms crossed. It was only a matter of seconds before Scott’s face crumpled and he was coming around the counter to be closer to Stiles, but Stiles stepped back when Scott tried to reach out for his shoulder.

“Stiles—“

“Did you and Deaton cook up some fucked up plan behind my back to trick Derek into helping you?”

Scott winced, looked away but didn’t answer, which was as good as an admission. Stiles blew out a harsh breath and walked a wide berth from Scott, shaking his head as he tried to get a grasp on just how badly the rug had been pulled out from under him.

“Stiles, I’m sorry. I should have told you--” Scott said, pausing when Stiles let out a harsh laugh.

“Yeah” Stiles said, nodding, eyes and tone sharp. “Yeah, Scotty, you should have told me long ago while it was happening. So why don’t you just go ahead and tell me what the hell you’ve done?”

Scott wasn’t looking at Stiles any more but he nodded. “Gerard threatened to hurt my mom, to hurt my friends. You. Unless I helped him.”

Stiles’ knew his expression faltered a little cause he could feel his anger abating in just the slightest at Scott’s words. Cause he could understand where Scott was coming from. He’d do anything to protect Scott, as well as his dad. Who knew the lengths Stiles would go to? Probably even further than Scott had gone.

“He asked me to help him take Derek down and I agreed. But I worked against him with Deaton”

“But why didn’t you tell me? Or Derek?” Stiles said, his sense of hurt and betrayal still burning under the anger that was definitely still there, despite knowing Scott’s reasons. “We could have helped you, man.”

“Derek is the last person I wanted to go to, all he wanted was for me to join his pack” Scott said, his look going bitter before it turned pleading, saddened. “Stiles I’d already gotten you mixed up in so much. Especially with you lying to your dad and the kanima—“

“That’s not an excuse,” Stiles said, cutting him off. “We’re supposed to be in this together. You may be the one who got the claws and teeth, but I’m still the one who’s keeping your ass in check.”

“That’s not—“

“And it doesn’t matter what Derek wanted, he would have helped you if you asked for it and you know it” Stiles said, pushing on.

“But—“

“Continue the story, please. I don’t think I’ve heard it all” Stiles said, folding his arms and keeping his gaze steady on Scott, who huffed indignantly but nodded. Stiles knew he was being childish but he was seriously out of reasons to care in the face of the all that Scott was admitting.

“I went to Deaton for help because he was there, Stiles” Scott said, helplessly. “I told him all about what Gerard was planning and I switched out his cancer pills for mountain ash so when he came to the warehouse and had Derek bite him—“

“You—He—what?!” Stiles shouted, eyes wide and stomach suddenly very, very unsettled.

Scott, to whatever credit he had left, looked immensely guilty and wouldn’t even look at Stiles, who felt like he’d gotten punched in the chest. Stiles was having trouble believing his best friend would be capable of such backstabbing and manipulation. It made him sick to know that Derek had been used twice in his life as an end to a means for someone.

“Scott” Stiles said hoarsely. “Are you telling me that you used Derek as a weapon? You told him you wanted to be apart of his pack and then manipulated him into biting Gerard?”

“Stiles, it was the only way,” Scott said, but his voice was angry and the words didn’t hold any weight, like Scott had been telling himself that over and over ever since. “I didn’t have a choice. He was going to kill Allison, Stiles…”

“Well, heaven forbid any harm come to Allison” Stiles sneered. “She only tried to kill you and all of our friends.”

Scott looked like he couldn’t decide to be hurt, guilty or enraged but Stiles pressed on.

“And you did have a choice, Scott” Stiles said, shaking his head vehemently as the anger was flaring full force in his gut again. “It wasn’t the only. You could have come to me, or even told Derek the truth and we all could have figured things out. That’s how it was supposed to be!”

Scott knocked a glass vase full of flowers off the counter near him in anger, turned back to Stiles with his eyes just barely glowing. Stiles wasn’t afraid, though, and was just as angry. “Why the hell are you taking Derek’s side now? I’m your best friend!” 

“You’re not acting like my best friend, Scott! You’re acting like my alpha!” Stiles shouted. “And for someone who hates Derek so much, you seem to be taking a lot of pages out of his book with keeping all the cards to yourself and trying to handle everything alone.”

“Stiles, I did all of this to keep you and everyone else I care about from getting hurt!” Scott said, throwing his hands up in frustration and stepping closer to Stiles, who was now against the wall.

“Well you did a shitty job of it cause Gerard apparently wasn’t keeping his end of the bargain” Stiles snarled, without a thought. Stiles thought he was going to be sick as soon as the words were out of his mouth.

“What?” Scott said, weakly, his voice breaking on the word.

Stiles shook his head, but Scott had his hands on him now and wasn’t allowing him to go anywhere. “No, Stiles, tell me”

“Didn’t you ever wonder where I was?” Stiles said, shaking his head. His stomach was sick and his lungs were getting hard-pressed for air. “Or were you too busy off with running around with Isaac or planning with Deaton to bother?”

“Stiles, I—“

“Fucking Gerard, man” Stiles said with a harsh laugh, shaking his head. “I let his “old-man-ness” fool me but he kicked my ass. Then he tied me up like Erica and Boyd and served me the same voltage they’d been getting.”

Scott’s jaw dropped open, his eyes wide almost comically and Stiles had to look away, seeing the comprehension, hurt and pain in his best friend’s eyes. And he was really not okay with being here, cornered against a wall right now. He couldn’t breathe. He seriously couldn’t breathe. He pushed Scott away, ignoring whatever protests he had and stomped through the glass on the floor, pushing out the door and back into the rain that was just misting now.

As soon as the cool humidity hit his face, Stiles felt his tightening muscles begin to relax and felt himself able to breathe a little easier. It was working as good as an inhaler, pushing away all the dark thoughts threatening to consume him and smother him in a panic attack. Stiles refused to allow himself to succumb to one, after not having one in so long. He heard the door open to the clinic open and he knew Scott was stepping outside, as well. He turned to face him and saw the dark and broken look on Scott’s face and turned away.

“I didn’t know” Scott said, his voice breaking the silence of the afternoon rain along with the sound of cars on the interstate near them. “I should have known. I should have been protecting you but I didn’t.”

Stiles was back in Scott’s face before either of them knew it “That. Exactly that, is what I’m talking about, Scott!”

Scott was shaking his head in confusion and Stiles continued. “Not even Allison needs you to save her! I’m not your fucking damsel in distress! I’m your best friend and if we’d have been on the same page, none of this would have happened! “

He took a breath, realizing he was shouting now. Scott flinched and seemed to shrink into himself with every word. “None of it! Not Gerard’s plan, not you screwing over Derek, not me getting tortured! None of it!”

He was already walking away when Scott said, “I’m sorry”

Stiles closed the door of the Jeep behind him and said, “I know”.

Then he cranked the engine and drove away, not glancing in the mirror to see his best friend watching after him.

*

Stiles was somewhat thankful that his dad wasn’t there when he got home. He didn’t feel like explaining why he was so late getting home or why he probably looked like he was ready to tear someone in half. Instead of driving straight home after his argument with Scott, he’d driven around Beacon Hills and wasted time til the gray sky darkened into a dull blue. A note on the fridge explained that there was lasagna for him and that his dad would be home late, not to wait up. Stiles ignored the lasagna, not feeling particularly hungry, headed up to his room and collapsed onto his bed.

His mind was a jumble of thoughts of Derek and Scott, of Isaac and Deaton, of Gerard. Then there was Erica’s shredded leather jacket and whether or not she was okay. The anger and hurt that had been a fire in him all day had burned itself out, leaving him with a much-appreciated numbness. It was all still there, it was just easier to ignore and that was something Stiles could do very well. The events of the day had been as exhausting as lacrosse practice and Stiles found himself missing practice, felt the itch in his bones to exert himself and expend energy. It was also a feeling that, of late, he’d come to attribute to when he’d get the itch to work on art. 

Sure, he’d wanted to quit his class due to Derek but that didn’t mean that he’d wanted to quit art. Derek was the only person in the class he’d really enjoyed being around. He helped the class pass by listening to Stiles ramble while they worked and Derek had even kept up his end of the conversation by contributing. Going on without Derek by his side would have sucked but the more Stiles thought about it, the more he realized he couldn’t ever give up art as a whole, no matter who wasn’t in his class. Silently chastising himself for having ever let himself care so much about Derek, he hauled himself to his feet and shoved his feet into some shoes, hurrying downstairs and out the door.

Once he’d retrieved his sketchbook and charcoal from his Jeep and back into his room, it was only a matter of putting his iTunes on shuffle and curling up in his bed before Stiles was shutting himself off from everything that had happened. No Derek, no Scott, no werewolves, just him and his sketchbook. Stiles had only ever really drawn some model or from a picture or something from memory. He’d never really just drawn something abstract or creative, something he felt. But he figured maybe now was a good time to try.

The only thing that Stiles didn’t like about it was the fact that he had to push through the numbness and denial he was so comfortable with to work with what was still there: bitterness, betrayal, fury, inadequacy. The things that still stung inside his chest no matter how far he shoved it down.

Stiles flipped to a blank page and stared at it, just listening to some (thankfully, to get him in the mood) angsty piano playing through the speakers of his computer. Then his pencil was moving, forming the edges and curves of some image that he could see forming in his head, of thorns. He sat there underneath the light of a floor lamp beside his bed for some time, getting up now and again to either pee or stretch and pace when he got stuck on a part of the drawing he couldn’t figure out. He wasn’t satisfied until he had the outline of the whole thing figured out.

*

Stiles awoke on Thursday morning from a thankfully dreamless sleep to his phone buzzing out his alarm on his desk and groaned when he felt the ache in his neck from the way he’d passed out sometime around three-ish. At some point, his body had just given up and his head had lolled backwards onto his pillow, his sketchpad still in his lap, his hands splayed out and blackened by charcoal. He pulled himself up onto his feet, stretching out his joints and screaming muscles before grabbing his phone and abruptly cutting off its alarm. He frowned when he noticed he had two messages, one from Scott, the other from Derek and wondered briefly he felt like dealing with their crap this early before deciding he needed a shower first.

After said shower, taking time to scrub his hands clean of charcoal, he procrastinated further by quietly sneaking downstairs to fix himself some toast. After having his full of cinnamon toast and juice, Stiles decided he’d put it off long enough and decided to just read the damn messages. Plus, he really needed to get going soon if he was actually going to be there for class today (even though the day before wasn’t his fault). 

The first message, from Scott read “dude, I know you’re really really upset at me and you have every right to be but can we meet up and talk or something?” He didn’t bother answering and moved on to Derek’s message, which just said “come over after class today, please” and who knew Derek was capable of manners? Stiles decided not to answer either of the messages, in the end, instead just grabbed his things, got in his Jeep and left for class. He flinched against the bright light of morning outside, having gotten used to dreary days lately, and breathed in the cool fresh air on his way to the Jeep.

On the way to class, Stiles spent half the time wondering what he was going to do about Scott and Derek and the other half hoping to God Ms. Wansley or anyone else wouldn’t give him those questioning/pitying looks they’d grown so accustomed to. Of course, whatever plans he’d had to go and see Derek after class were ruined when on his way to the community center, he received a mass text from Finstock announcing practice that afternoon and demanding everyone cancelling whatever plans they had to be there for it. Stiles scowled at the message with its abundance of all caps and exclamation points and tried to not to groan aloud at the thought of having to be around Scott. Derek would have to wait. Stiles could only deal with one upset werewolf at a time.

When he’d arrived to class, Ms. Wansley immediately approached him with that usual welcoming smile of hers. Stiles was thankful she didn’t mention his absence when she asked to see his work so far and he complied, standing awkwardly while she flipped through his sketchbook.

She made a murmur of interest and he looked over to see that she was peering at the drawing he’d started on last night, fingertips just barely hovering over the penciled twisting of thorns around scarred flesh.

“I have to say, you’ve really come a long way with your art in such a short time, Stiles” Wansley said as she passed the sketchbook back to Stiles. “You should be very proud. I know your mother would be.”

Stiles couldn’t help it, he full on beamed at her. Despite the shittiness of the last two days, knowing that his mother’s best friend thought his art was really that good, that his own mother would have been proud of him, brought a lightness to Stiles that he’d not felt in the longest time. Ms. Wansley returned his smile and gave him her customary shoulder squeeze before he turned and headed to his place at the back of the room, taking his seat in front of an empty easel.

Stiles ignored the easel that still sat to his left as he set up his sketchbook and ignored the twinge of hope in his chest at the thought that maybe Derek would be walking in any moment. Things didn’t seem like they could go back to the way they were before Stiles knew the truth. He was still a bit disappointed to be right when Ms. Wansley shut the door to the classroom, signaling the start of class. Stiles looked around and noticed that everyone else had a canvas sat on their easels instead of sketchpads and realized he’d missed the first day of their last project.

“Alright, class” Ms. Wansley said, rubbing her hands together with her usual warm smile. “I know it’s not until next week but I figured I’d go ahead and give the rundown on the art show next week, as well as some last minute things before we wrap up the class for this month.”

Stiles listened vaguely as he retrieved a blank canvas that was set aside amongst others, all of the same size, lying against the wall. When he had it set up against his canvas, all he could do was sit and stare at it as the sound of Wansley’s voice buzzed in the background. He still didn’t know if he was going to participate in the art show, didn’t know if he was ready to have any of his pieces for public display. Not when it made him nervous to even let Scott flip through his sketchbook. And he didn’t have the slightest idea what to paint for his final project.

Art was for Stiles. He didn’t do it to prove anything to himself or to anyone else like he did for lacrosse. It was something he could do for himself, keep to himself and be selfish with, if he wanted. He’d only share it with those he considered close to him. It was why he’d decided to return to class even if Derek didn’t. Cause he wasn’t doing this for Derek, no matter how much of a tentative bond they’d held. So he’d decided he was going to finish out this class because he enjoyed it. His aim for the summer had been to do things for himself; normal, human things, at that and he was going to see it through if it killed him.

Once Ms. Wansley had finished talking, everyone had set to work and Stiles was left to brainstorm. For about an hour, he sat in front of the bright white expanse of canvas, flipping through magazines, debating whether or not to go and get his iPod from the car before simply sitting and staring while fiddling with a pencil in frustration.

When he did try and think about what his final project, his mind automatically strayed over into more dangerous territory: thoughts about Scott and his secrets, Derek and his anger, and Erica and her wellbeing. It was a dark cloud over Stiles’ mood, as dark as the charcoal pencil in his hand. Before he knew it, he was raising the pencil to the canvas and he was sketching. He tried to put into the canvas the viciousness, hurt and anger he felt. All of the mistrust towards so many people he knew.

Stiles refused to let himself think or hesitate when he worked, just let himself feel it out and allow the drawing to shape itself and come together. By the end of the class, he was satisfied by the rough, brazen lines and sharp angles he’d created. He was proud of how well he was able to translate everything he felt onto the canvas and his shoulders felt a few pounds lighter. He hadn’t realized just how heavy his chest had felt since the day before, like a panic attack was just on the horizon. 

On the way to his Jeep, Stiles felt as though he were bracing himself for battle, the way he squared his shoulders. The thing was, he wasn’t exactly ready to see Scott after the exchange that they’d had the day before. No matter how bad things were between them, Scott was the only best friend that Stiles had ever had and Stiles wasn’t proud of how much of a dick he’d been when Scott had been trying to apologize. That didn’t mean that Stiles had forgiven Scott, either. It was all still very tender and very confusing and Stiles wasn’t any closer to figuring out where to go from here than he’d been the moment he’d walked away from the fight.

Stiles made a quick stop at home to change into a t-shirt and basketball shorts as well as to grab his gear before heading to the school. He made it there just as everyone else was pulling up, it seemed. As he made his way to the field, he could see Scott and Isaac standing beside each other off to the side, talking. He saw the moment that they realized Stiles was there from the way Scott tensed up and tried (failed) to conspicuously glance around. Stiles rolled his eyes and took a seat on a bench as he began pulling on his gear.

For all that Scott was supposed to be a werewolf, he really failed at being guile and sneaky, because Stiles heard him walking up behind him from steps away. 

“Stiles” Scott said quietly, before coming around to sit on the bench beside Stiles. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Scott’s expression was miserable in the midday sun and it wasn’t due to the heat.

For one brief moment while Stiles was pulling on his knees pads, he could almost pretend that nothing had changed for them. That he and Scott were both second string and were being benched during practice and only had a few hours of talking about Supernatural and comic books to look forward to. But then Scott started talking again and the illusion was gone before it’d even started.

“Stiles, I know you’re upset with me but can’t we please talk? Last night, I—“

Stiles stood and stalked away, leaving Scott’s words hanging in the air. He knew that Scott deserved a chance to talk but right now he just couldn’t listen. Stiles was tired of excuses, tired of apologies and tired of being treated like something fragile. His agitation and moodiness was starting to itch beneath his skin like nervous energy and he gripped his lacrosse stick even tighter. When the coach called them on the field to line up for practice with Scott as the goalkeeper, he caught Isaac’s eyes as he passed him, saw the disapproving look on his face but didn’t say anything.

Practice went by slowly in the heavy heat of the day, Stiles lobbying a shot into the net with a little more force than he should have and feeling a little bit too smug about getting one past Scott who didn’t seem to be on his game. The next few hours involved a lot of yelling from Finstock, a lot of running and a lot of tackling with few breaks in between. There was also some crying from Greenburg but the Coach apologized for that, before yelling at him again. When there were breaks, Scott would take the chance to try and come up to Stiles, commending him on his improvement or attempting to apologize again before Stiles would walk away. Stiles felt ridiculous, childish even, but he knew that if he opened his mouth, he would say things he didn’t mean, or worse, things he did mean.

Afterwards, when Coach called the end of practice, telling them they were terrible and should be ashamed for having let themselves get so bad after just three days without practice, Stiles felt thoroughly exhausted and in turn, content. He didn’t want to say that he’d run, but he definitely walked a little faster than usual to his Jeep in case Scott tried to talk to him again before he left. But as he drove away, he didn’t see Scott or Isaac anywhere and the part of him that cared was disappointed and afraid that maybe Stiles had just given Isaac his best friend.

*

Stiles drove home with his sore muscles and bone-deep tiredness, relishing in the contrast of the weak AC of the Jeep and the warm rays of the setting sun shining through his windshield. He wondered faintly if he should cook dinner for his dad that evening, knowing he’d probably be getting home later that evening. He kicked off his shoes just inside the doorway when he got home, tossing aside his lacrosse gear. He stopped in the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water and a granola bar before heading upstairs. Maybe later, he could work some more on the drawing he’d started on the night before and—

“Holy shit!” Stiles exclaimed, at the same time jumping away from where the glass of water he’d just been holding shattered on the floor of his bedroom. 

Derek stood unmoving, unflinching from where he was leaning against Stiles open bedroom window, glaring as always.

“What the hell are you doing in my bedroom, Derek?” Stiles snapped, heart still beating wild as he kneeled to grab a towel that hadn’t quite made it into his dirty clothes hamper to carefully scoop up the broken glass.

“I texted you to come and meet me today” Derek said, plainly. “You didn’t so I decided I’d meet you here.”

“I had lacrosse practice” Stiles huffed, gesturing down to his clothes. “Besides, after yesterday, I don’t think I owe you anything.”

Stiles thought Derek looked the slightest bit guilty but at the same time, he looked angry, like he’d just remembered the reason he’d come there. “Did you send Scott to apologize to me?”

“What?” Stiles said, glancing up at Derek, confused, as he bundled together a makeshift bag out of the towel for the glass he’d broken. Thanks to Derek.

“Scott came by my apartment last night” Derek said, matter-of-factly, as if it was supposed to mean something to Stiles. “Apologizing for stabbing me in the back, for having me bite Gerard. For everything. Why?”

“What do you mean, why?” Stiles shook his head, confused. “Wh—I don’t know what you want me to say. We had an argument yesterday—“

“Did you have Scott come and apologize to me?” Derek talked over, stalking closer, which in turn had Stiles taking a step backward. “Do you think some apology’s just going to fix everything, Stiles?”

“What? No!” Stiles exclaimed, feeling defensive now. He grabbed at a shard of glass a little quickly and winced when he felt it slice through the meat of the palm of his hand.

“Cause some little ‘I’m sorry’ isn’t going to make up for the fact that he—“

“Derek, I didn’t have him do anything!” Stiles shouted, standing from where he had been kneeling, clutching his cut hand. “I chewed him out after I left your apartment yesterday and I left after he admitted what he’d done.”

Derek stared at him thoughtfully for a moment, probably judging whether or not Stiles was telling the truth. He seemed satisfied with Stiles’ heartbeat because he relaxed just the slightest after that, his fists unclenching and his shoulders coming down. Stiles blew out a sigh, feeling the tension leaking out of himself in response. Then his eyes drew down to Stiles’ hand and he stepped forward, reaching for Stiles’ hand. Stiles didn’t shrink away from him this time, but watched him warily, ignored how nice the heat of Derek’s hand around his own felt.

“You should get this taken care of” Derek murmured, and with a hand to Stiles’ back, led him out of the bedroom. Stiles snorted at his attempt of taking care of Stiles but allowed himself to be maneuvered.

“Not like I haven’t had worse,” Stiles said as they entered the bathroom across the hall from his room. He actually felt Derek tense behind him, but didn’t get a reply.

“I just meant that running around with werewolves means you learn to deal with flesh wounds” Stiles explained, holding his hand underneath the faucet of his sink and running lukewarm water over it.

“Shut up, Stiles” Derek said, without any real heat behind it, leaving Stiles alone in the bathroom with a small smile.

He could hear the tinkling of broken glass behind moved around and saw Derek pass back and forth in front of his doorway several times, even heard him go downstairs a few times. Derek walked back into the bathroom just as Stiles was wrapping gauze around his medicated hand, stepped closer into his space to check Stiles’ handiwork. Stiles allowed him to finish off the work, snipping the gauze when he was finished and taping it down with medical tape. They both looked up at the same time and Stiles was surprised by the tenderness he saw in Derek’s look. Derek turned and walked out of the bathroom, leaving Stiles to the feeling of blood rise in his cheeks.

“I didn’t want you to be right,” Stiles admitted softly as he followed Derek back into his room. “I went to confront him about everything you told me yesterday and you were right. It all makes sense, though.”

Derek’s eyes had tracked Stiles as he’d walked over and sat down on the bed, his expression was still guarded as he spoke. “What do you mean?”

Stiles shrugged. “For the past few months, he wouldn’t talk about you. He’d get irritated whenever I’d mention you or the Gerard thing. I knew he was hiding something and it all just sort of came together after you told me.”

Derek looked away, eyes on the window he’d come in through instead, the muscles in his jaw working. “I’m sorry.”

Stiles did a double take looking at Derek, not quite sure he’d heard right. Based on Derek’s expression, though, he had. Derek had apologized. “For what?” Stiles stammered out.

“For telling you. Especially the way I did,” Derek said, with a sigh. “That was out of line. I just did it because I was angry and worried. I said it cause I knew it would hurt you.”

“It’s okay. I mean, it was a dick way to do it” Stiles admitted. “But I’m sort of glad you told me.”

“Why?” Derek said, looking incredulous, like Stiles was something he couldn’t quite figure out.

“Cause I needed to know” Stiles said. “Scott did some pretty sucky things, even if he did think they were for the right reasons. He was keeping them secret cause he didn’t know how I’d react. But I still deserved to know.”

Derek nodded, as if that was something he could understand. Maybe he was also a little bit hurt that Scott didn’t come to him with the truth like the werewolfy older brother they were supposed to be. Stiles could see where that would make what Scott did even more painful.

“I still don’t understand why he came to apologize to me,” Derek said, after a few moments silence.

“Well…” Stiles said, starting in a voice as if he were talking to a child. “When people hurt other people, Derek, they apologize to let that other person know they’re sorry for what bad thing they’ve done.”

Derek scowled at Stiles, “That’s not what I meant, smartass”

Stiles nodded, having to restrain himself from grinning, but not quite getting where Derek was going with this. It was just an apology and knowing Scott and how hard it must’ve been to apologize to Derek, of all people, he’d had to have meant it. 

“Explain then?” Stiles said.

Derek let out a frustrated sound and sat down on the bed next to Stiles in the next second. “Just… why do you care? I thought you didn’t care if I died, so why does it matter if I get a damn apology?”

Stiles inclined his head as it dawned on him what Derek was saying. And honestly, Stiles didn’t really know how to answer him. He didn’t know why he cared whether Derek got an apology. Except he was lying to himself and the fact that Derek had gotten his family killed because someone used him was as good enough a reason as any for caring that he got an apology from Scott. And okay, yeah, there was also the fact that Stiles kind of had a crush on Derek but they weren’t talking about that.

“That’s a good question,” Stiles said, nodding. He smiled slightly when Derek snorted a small laugh. “At one time, yeah. I wouldn’t have cared if you died.”

“But?” Derek was watching him now, his eyes roaming over Stiles’ face and Stiles swallowed, nervous under the scrutiny of his gaze. Apparently, they were talking about Stiles’ crush on Derek, after all.

“But somewhere between saving each other’s lives and getting to know you a little better… I guess I sort of…”

“Sort of…?” Derek echoed, prompting Stiles to continue. There was something odd lighting up his eyes and Stiles couldn’t stop looking into them. He was also suddenly aware of how close they were and the fact that he and Derek were both sitting on his bed.

“Care about you” Stiles said finally, his heart almost as loud as his voice in the quiet of his room. Stiles knew Derek could hear it, too, because Derek was staring right at his chest like he could watch his heart beat. “Like, a pretty good bit. Or whatever.”

“Yeah?” Derek asked, his voice softer than Stiles had ever heard it, his expression unreadable. They were so close that Stiles could feel his warm breath grazing against his cheek, as well as the warmth of Derek’s body just inches away from his. 

“Yeah” Stiles breathed, not taking his eyes away from Derek’s. 

“Stiles, I—“

One second Derek was speaking and the next Stiles was lunging forward to cover his mouth with his own, his hand coming up of it’s on volition to wrap around Derek’s neck. It took a second for Stiles to realize Derek’s lips were moving underneath his for the reality of what was happening hit Stiles like a train and he pulled away, bringing a hand up to his mouth in shock. He could still feel the soft press of Derek’s lips against his own.

“I am so… so very sorry” Stiles breathed.

Derek looked just as out of sorts with a blush high on his face that made Stiles want to attack him again. Derek stood abruptly with his eyes darting around the room and anywhere but at Stiles with his flushed face, licking his lips nervously. Then he blew out a breath and turned to walk toward the window but his movements were jerky and reflected just how unsettled he was. Stiles was torn between wanting to crawl under his bed and die of embarrassment and pull Derek back onto his bed for them to finish what Stiles’d started.

“I should go,” Derek said, voice tight in a way that Stiles really didn’t know how to handle. “I’ll see you around.”

Stiles obviously had no control over his mouth because next he was stammering, “Like, in art class?”

Derek’s face was on it’s way back to the same guarded, shut down expression that Stiles hated so much when he turned back to face him. “I don’t think so, Stiles. I don’t… think it’s a good idea anymore.”

The words were simple and didn’t offer any reason but they were enough to put a rock in Stiles’ gut, make him feel sick. God, he was such a screw-up.

“Yeah” Stiles nodded frantically, cleared his throat “Well, thank you. For the apology and the—yeah.”

Stiles winced at the pained look on Derek’s face, but nodded all the same. “Yeah”

With that, he was out the window and Stiles was falling backwards onto the bed with an ‘oomph’ sound, wondering what the hell had just happened. He was pretty sure that his face was heated right now from a permanent blush due to fatal mortification. All he could do was think over and over to himself the same little sentence in his head.

‘I just kissed Derek Hale’


	7. "Sometimes it feels what I recovered you lost"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott and Stiles speak for the first time since their fight and Stiles and his dad find themselves healing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I know I said there was one more chapter but I've been killing myself for days trying to get it done and it's nearly 9,000 words and it's not finished yet so I figured I'd split it up into two chapters and go ahead and post the first now so... yeah. ANYWAYS! Let me know what you think and expect the for real final chapter in the next few days :)

One of Stiles’ earliest memories was one from when he was really young, around five years old. He remembers walking in from playing outside and into the living room where his mother’s easel had been set up just against the window. His mother had always told him not to play with her art things while she wasn’t around and of course, Stiles having been the little shit he was, even at age five, hadn’t listened. The painting was, now that Stiles could look back knowing what he knows, an impressionistic version of the bright spring day outside the window. He couldn’t fathom that at such a young age, though, just that it was very colorful and that he wanted to help paint. As soon as he’d reached over to grab a paintbrush, though, he’d heard his mother’s voice coming from the doorway to the kitchen and it’d startled him so bad, he knocked over the easel and her palette.

The painting was pretty much ruined, Stiles remembered that much. The palette had fallen right onto the center of the painting, covering the work she’d done in multiple splatters of color. He’d felt awful as soon as he’d done it and had apologized profusely. His mother hadn’t been angry, but even at that young age, he could tell she was disappointed by the look in those same brown eyes he had inherited. She’d only told him to go play while she cleaned up the mess. She’d found him a little while later in tears, soothed him by holding him close and telling him it was alright, to just mind her from now on about her art. Later that evening, she’d let him finger paint with her on a new canvas and he’d felt better.

But the feeling of knowing what a big mess he’d created was something Stiles was feeling all too familiar with now, at seventeen, especially in the wake of everything that had happened with Scott and after kissing Derek. He felt the echo even harder, staring at the very same painting of his mother’s he’d thought he ruined. 

Stiles was in the attic of their house, which he hadn’t visited in years. Neither had his father, of course, and they both knew it was because after Stiles’ mom had died, they’d basically packed everything up involving her and shoved it up there. He could see the area off to one side delegated for Christmas decorations that hadn’t been put up in so long. Normally, he and his dad just went out to the local diner for Christmas breakfast and then he hung at Scott’s house for the evening while his dad took on a night shift. Then, another nice-sized pile of boxes overflowing with skeletons and ghosts were the Halloween decorations his dad once used to go all out with. 

And then at the very back of the attic, underneath a small window that let in very little light to help the single lightbulb in the middle of the ceiling, was all the things his mother had owned or been connected to. Boxes of clothes upon boxes of clothes before moving onto her shoes, a jewelry box, boxes of art supplies and finally: all of her paintings that were set on top of boxes or against them delicately. Stiles stood a good six feet away from the wall of her belongings, wringing the bottom of his shirt between his hand and swallowing past the lump in his throat and wondering why the hell he’d even bothered to come up here.

Oh, yeah. Closure. Or some shit like that.

Stiles had spent the remainder of the evening before and then the following night splitting his time equally between freaking out over kissing Derek, freaking out over what to do about Scott and freaking out over the art show that was happening Monday night. It was a lot of freaking out but he was adept at multi-tasking, especially when he took more than enough Adderall, just ask anyone. Between bouts of said freaking out, he still managed to find time to work on his art, touching up on his earlier projects as well continuing his sketch, adding depth and texture to flesh, making the thorns look more menacing and sharp. Somewhere after 2 in the morning, he found his calm in charcoal and the low sounds of Mumford & Sons playing through his speakers.

Which is also what he woke up to that Friday morning at fifteen after ten a.m., instead of the shrieking sound of his cell phone alarm. Because he’d forgotten to set it the night before, he realized with a groan and a hand running down his face. He hurried through his shower, threw on his last remaining clean pair of jeans and a tee shirt (he really, really needed to do laundry when he got home later) and was out the door by 10:30.

He hadn’t quite made it to class on time but Ms. Wansley hadn’t minded. In fact, she’d looked more than happy that he’d decided to come despite how late he’d been. Stiles didn’t say anything about the fact that Derek’s easel was no longer set up, leaving Stiles practically alone at the back of the room. As he settled into his seat in front of his own easel, setting up the canvas he’d been working on, he found he felt more alone with his thoughts than he’d like. Thankfully, he’d thought to bring his iPod in with him. But the iPod hadn’t prevented his thoughts from running away from him while he worked. In fact, his final project only spurred the thoughts on more.

Almost unconsciously, he dipped his brush into a warm brown and applied it to his canvas in a way that conveyed texture. He kept his hand steady along with his breathing, just like Derek had taught him. He wondered what other things Derek had learned about art that he could teach Stiles, and then, with a small smile, he wondered what Derek could teach him in the bedroom. Which made him wince, considering it was those kinds of thoughts that got him in the situation he was in with Derek now. 

Stiles wasn’t an idiot and he was pretty perceptive of things sometimes when he really put his mind to it. He knew that Derek was complicated in the most understated of ways. He knew that he had issues that were miles long that and probably even some Stiles hadn’t managed to dig deep enough to find yet. But the parts of Derek that Stiles had uncovered in the past few weeks were enough to keep him wondering about things. Things like what if they could have more? What if they could be there for each other instead of fighting one another? Just how good could they be together if they just took a chance? After all, a chance is all Stiles needed.

A chance was what had brought his mind to Scott, who really did deserve a chance to be heard. Plus, Stiles was tired of freezing him out, tired of being so angry and hurt. He knew his best friend and knew that Scott would never intentionally hurt him. But he wasn’t just hurt for himself. He also hurt for Derek, who, again, wasn’t speaking to Stiles and had dropped out of all obligations that involved Stiles, if the art class was any indication. 

But Stiles was focusing on one werewolf at a time. So after class, Stiles sent Scott a text asking him to come over whenever he got off work (there was no practice that day due to the fact that Finstock wanted to lump two days of practice into Saturday because he was, well, insane). It didn’t take more than a handful of seconds to get a reply back from Scott with a very enthusiastic “be over in an hour!!!” which left Stiles with an hour at home, alone with his thoughts. He’d thought about having a little bit of private time on the way home, but as soon as he walked in the door, the light coming through the window of the living room caught his eye. 

Suddenly, the memory of that day with his mom and that painting came rushing back to him and something in him just had to do it. He couldn’t pretend that his mother had never existed. That she’d never lived and loved and committed both to canvas. So after eyeing the attic door at the top of the stair for a good minute or two, Stiles steeled himself, reached up and pulled the door and folding ladder down. Which is how he ended up stepping over boxes of his old baby clothes and toys to the very back where his mother’s things had been stored. Or rather, a couple feet away from them but as of yet, not moving any closer. 

Stiles rolled him eyes at himself, shook his arms out and in the next breath, kneeled closer to the painting that first in a row of 18x24’’ canvases sat against a cardboard box. Now that Stiles thought about it, maybe they should have taken better care with storing his mother’s paintings but they seemed to be in good condition. He reached out and ran his hands over the painting of the spring day that didn’t look at all like it’d been ruined. There was one difference he noticed, with a tightening of his throat: the addition of what appeared to be a little boy with his arms out, head thrown back with laughter in the warm sunshine. Even though Stiles screwed it up, his mom had managed to make it even better and show how much she loved him.

Stiles wiped at his cheek where a tear had managed to get past his normal resolve against crying and set the painting aside before moving on to the next one, which was another of his mother’s favorite places, a high point overlooking the preserve in the bright of day. An expanse of shades of greenery set against an azure sky with wispy clouds mixed in. Stiles and his dad had gone hiking that day and she’d stayed behind on that spot to paint. 

Next was a view from a booth in the back of Joy’s diner even featuring a few patrons in booths and at the bar and she’d paid special attention to a couple closer to the entrance to the restaurant who were sitting across from each other and leaning in close. She’d made sure to get the window right beside the booth and the view from the window just outside downtown Beacon Hills. His hands closed on the next painting as soon as he heard the sound of steps creaking up the ladder to the attic.

Stiles turned and relaxed as soon as he saw it was Scott, whose eyes were tracking all around the room, taking in all the things that had gone untouched for years. Stiles nodded at Scott when he spotted, turned away from his mother’s things as Scott picked his way towards him.

“Wow it’s been a while since we’ve been up here,” Scott said, glancing around again as he got closer. “Remember when you used to get me to come up here and help you look for your Christmas presents?”

Stiles grinned at the memory. “Yeah and I also remember that time you got stuck up here when I went to the bathroom and I ended up going to get a snack too and forgot for like, an hour”

Scott frowned, reflexively looking back at the attic door to make sure it was still open. “That wasn’t so funny”

“To you maybe, but I couldn’t breathe from laughing so hard!” Stiles said, laughing. 

Scott continued to pout for a few seconds before he joined in and before long, they were both in tears, wheezing from laughter at the thought of Scott yelling for help from the attic while Stiles was downstairs eating a sandwich. When the laughter faded and they’d sobered up, the awkwardness crept in until Scott’s eyes locked on the painting that was still in Stiles’ hands.

“What’s that?” Scott said, stepping forward to get a closer look.

“I don’t…” Stiles said, his words fading when he finally glanced down at it. 

It was just so typical that it would be that painting that he’d pick up when Scott walked in. It was of two young boys with their arms around each other’s shoulders, the point of view from someone standing behind them. Stiles remembered that his mom had painted it when he’d bragged to Scott about his mother’s painting abilities and Scott had looked skeptical. It hadn’t taken her but a handful of days to prove Stiles right. The two boys were clearly the two of them when they were young and had begun to be known as attached at the hip. Never one without the other. ScottnStiles. 

“I completely forgot about that painting” Scott said softly, stepping closer. His voice was full of the same awe Stiles’d remembered in him when he was younger and had seen the painting for the first time.

“Yeah, me too” Stiles said, just as softly. He saw Scott look up at him from the corner of his eye and he set the painting back down in preparation for what was to come.

“Look, Stiles—“

“Scott—“

“No, dude” Scott said, shaking his head and looking determined. “I came here to speak and I am.”

Stiles’ eyebrows raised incredulously but he relented, gave Scott a “go ahead” bow with his head.

“I’m sorry” Scott said, emphatically. He stepped away from Stiles, nudging a cardboard box labeled “china dishes” aside as he did. “For the lying, for the douchiness, for making you think I’d traded you in for Isaac….”

He turned pleading eyes toward Stiles, throwing his hands out. “I know it’s not excuse but… I was so scared, Stiles. Like, you don’t even know. Suddenly, the possibility that I could lose everyone I loved was too real. So I did what I had to.”

Stiles had a brief flashback to seeing his dad nearly getting killed by Matt and being so helpless to do anything and knew exactly what Scott meant.

“ And man, I thought I could handle Allison’s grandfather because I could handle her dad but…”

“Trust me” Stiles said, pointedly. “I know how just how it is to underestimate elderly psychotics.”

Scott winced. “I’m sorry that I wasn’t there to stop Gerard from getting to you. I should have been there to get you out of there, to rescue you—“

“No, stop” Stiles said, getting a bit irritated. “Cause that’s what I mean, right there—rescue.”

Scott looked confused, shook his head to emphasize that he didn’t get Stiles’ point and really, that look should not work for Scott at nearly seventeen years old anymore. It’s strictly a little kid look and yet…

“Help me out? Sure, fine, great. But I don’t need to be rescued” Stiles said ardently, giving Scott a level look. “I’m human, not some fragile damsel in distress. Which means, stop keeping things from me cause you don’t want me to get hurt. That’s the problem here.”

“Allison said the same thing,” Scott said, apologetically. “But it’s also my job to protect you guys” Scott said. “I know I can’t protect everyone, but I’m going to try. You guys are my pack.”

“And I’m glad you’re your own alpha, dude. I’m proud of you” Stiles said, with an honest smile. “But you can’t just freeze me out when the going gets tough, Scott. Even heroes need sidekicks.” 

“Yeah” Scott looked guilty but also looked like he understood. “Alright. Yeah, you’re right. No more secrets. No more bubble-wrapping my best friend.” 

“Good” Stiles said fervently. “And no more taking pages out of the alpha book from Derek, cause seriously? You can’t rock the douche look or the leather.”

Scott laughed and Stiles was pleased to note that he didn’t wince or scowl at the mention of Derek. Progress. Scott looked up at him with a strange look on his face.

“Also you’re kind of a hero yourself, man.”

“Thanks” Stiles said, flatly.

“No, really. You stand up to werewolves and hunters all the time, without a second thought, even though you don’t have any of the abilities werewolves do.”

“I think that’s called being stupid, Scott” Stiles said with a sardonic snort. “Just ask Derek”

“I’m pretty sure Derek would agree with me on this,” Scott said, somewhat mysteriously. But before Stiles could open his mouth to comment on it, Scott pressed on. 

“Seriously, though, dude. You could have run screaming from all of this by now but you stick with it for the people you care about. That’s pretty damn heroic if you ask me.”

Stiles couldn’t help the small smile that was on his face. Sometimes Scott really surprised him by how insightful he could be. He was by no means stupid but he did often lack in common sense and so when moments like this occurred, it often took Stiles by surprise.

“Yeah?” Stiles said. 

Stiles groaned when Scott practically tackled him with a hug, squeezing the life out of him as he did. Despite being knocked breathless, Stiles felt a weight lessen from his shoulders and his chest. He hadn’t realized just how much he’d missed his best friend until he got him back. He grinned and held onto Scott as tight as he could.

“So are we good?” Scott said, still hugging Stiles close to him. Stiles flailed until Scott released him, looking sheepish as he stepped away. More likely due to the fact he nearly crushed Stiles’ lungs than the display of affection.

“We’re good, man,” Stiles said with a grin. “It’ll take more than some werewolves bullshit to break up this bromance.”

“Good” Scott said seriously before scrunching up his face in discomfort. “So, speaking of Derek… I kind of went and—“

“Apologized to him and begged for begrudged Alpha forgiveness?” Stiles said, raising an eyebrow in challenge and crossing his arms.

“I didn’t beg” Scott said, rolling his eyes. “But I did apologize, yeah. I’m guessing the fact that you know about it means that you and him talked about it. Glad to hear things are still good between you two.”

“You are?” Stiles said, narrowing his eyes. “Since when?”

“Since I apologized?” Scott said in a way that made it sound like ‘duh’. “Might as well get used to you two being friends since you both love that art class so much. You’ll be hanging around him a lot more now.”

Stiles grimaced cause yeah, friends. He brought a hand to the back of his neck as he turned back to the boxes of his mother’s stuff. “Not exactly.”

“What? Why?”

“He came over to tell me how he kicked you out after you apologized” Stiles shrugged. “He did that because he thought I put you up to the apology.”

“What?” Scott said, his face and tone both outraged. “Of course I didn’t! I felt shitty cause of what happened and—“

“I know, I know” Stiles said, turning back to Scott with his hands out, placating. “I explained it and he gets it now”

Scott didn’t look convinced or comforted, though. “So then what’s the big deal?”

Stiles blew out a sigh, reached out for one of the boxes set against the wall labeled “art supplies” before turning back to Scott and pushing it into his arms. He could practically feel Scott’s impatience, but he waited until he had another box in his arms and was on his way toward the attic door before he said as plainly as he could, “I kissed Derek”.

Stiles bit back a grin when he heard the box of supplies hit the floor behind him with a thunk and the sound of Scott making incoherent noises before he finally blurted out, “You—Der—You what?!”

Once they both had the all the boxes needed downstairs and Scott looked less like he was constipated or on the verge of an aneurysm, Stiles told him as much as he could without betraying Derek’s privacy (i.e., leaving out everything involving Kate). Stiles started from the day he found Derek running wolfed out in the middle of the rain, explained how he took Derek back to his apartment and how they ended up fighting. He even told Scott about how Derek had a piece of Erica’s clothing in his hand and what that might mean, which is when a grim and uneasy look passed on Scott’s face that Stiles could relate to. Then Scott was back to looking uncomfortable and constipated when Stiles skipped ahead to the part about Derek in his room and then the kiss.

By the time Stiles had finished his tale, he and Scott had settled into a round of Call of Duty in the living room and Scott was blaming his low kill count on the fact that he was distracted by thoughts of Derek and Stiles making out. Stiles figured it was a good sign that he could joke about it like that so he didn’t bring up again the fact that Scott just really sucked at Call of Duty. It brought on a surge of warmth and familiarity in Stiles’ chest that he’d missed.

“So have you talked to him since then?” Scott said, his demeanor otherwise focused on the game in front of them.

Stiles let out a snort. “No, I don’t know if you’ve noticed but Derek isn’t exactly one for talking and I think I’ve humiliated myself enough in front of him for a lifetime.”

Scott frowned, let out a disgruntled growl at the game when Stiles got another kill over him. “Yeah but just because he didn’t kiss you back doesn’t mean he doesn’t like you, or you can’t be friends.”

“Scott, no offense, but this isn’t you and Allison” Stiles said with an eye roll as he mashed the buttons on his controller. “It’s not so simple as just being friends or being together. This is Derek we’re talking about here.”

If Scott was offended, he didn’t show it. He gave a non-committed shrug. “If you say so, dude.”

Stiles let out a triumphant yell at the same time that Scott growled pretty viciously and the game was over. Scott wasn’t pouting like he normally did when he lost, though, instead wearing a bright grin on his face when Stiles turned to look at him.

“I’ve missed you, dude” Scott said. “I’ve missed this—our bro time. Isaac’s cool and all, but…”

“I know” Stiles said, seriously before smirking. “He’s no Stiles Stilinski, human wonder.”

They both laughed as Stiles pulled him into another hug breaking apart when Scott saw the time and realized he was going to be late for his evening shift at the clinic. Stiles walked him to the door just as his dad was coming through it, looking haggard as he had been the past few days due to uneven shifts at the station. His face lit up a little at the sight of his son and Scott, though. Stiles was pretty sure his dad knew something had been up between them after the last awkward dinner they’d had and Scott’s absence at the house of late.

“Good to see you, Scott” the sheriff said. “What have you two been up to today?”

Stiles grinned, patted his father on the shoulder. “Nothing too illegal, dad, just video games.”

“Yep” Scott agreed with a laugh. “Good, wholesome, nonviolent video games”

“Uh-huh, that’s what a father likes to hear, so it must not be the truth” his dad said, turning to Scott. “You staying for dinner?”

“No, sir, I’m actually on my way to work right now” Scott said apologetically. “Maybe tomorrow, though. I’m sure Stiles and I will both be ready to eat our weight in chili after practice tomorrow”

Both Stilinskis said their goodbyes and Scott was out the door with a wave. As soon as the door shut, it seemed like all the energy that he’d had went out of his dad as his shoulder’s slumped and he trudged further into the house. He gave Stiles a squeeze of the shoulder as he passed him.

“Dad, are you alright?” Stiles said, watching his father’s fatigued demeanor. 

His dad let out a sigh that seemed to heave up from every part of his body as he walked into the kitchen. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just another tiring case with practically no leads whatsoever.”

Stiles followed him, watched as he rooted in the cabinets and pulled out a fifth of Jack Daniels. At Stiles’ eyebrows, he held out a placating hand with a tumbler in it. “It’s just a glass for nerves, Stiles, don’t worry.”

Stiles rolled his eyes and took a seat at the dining room table across from where his dad followed suit. His dad had only barely taken a gulp of his glass and glanced down at the newspaper folded up on the table before Stiles started in on him.

“So what’s going on?” Stiles said, a little too excitedly. His dad quirked up an eyebrow which was enough to tell Stiles what his dad had told him a million times about not asking about cases. “Fine. Tell me all the details you can possibly tell me without actually telling me what’s happening.”

His dad looked disbelieving but blew out a sigh before speaking. “Just some sort of gang activity that’s started in the past few weeks. We thought at first that they were just moving through on their way to a major city or something but they’re actually sticking around.”

Stiles deflated, feeling a bit underwhelmed. “That’s it? Some douchebags are riding around putting their mark on things and vandalizing?”

His dad looked offended somewhat offended from behind his glass of whiskey. “It’s not just vandalism, Stiles. Gangs can be violent and we can’t take chances, especially when this isn’t like any gang we’ve ever heard of from the tags we’ve seen over town.”

“Huh” Stiles said, chewing on his lip and trying to think if he’d seen any new, prominent graffiti over town anywhere. 

Beacon Hills was fairly peaceful and untroubled aside from the werewolves, hunters and occasional psychopath (Matt), though, so apart from the interstate bridges there wasn’t really any graffiti in town. He had a thought to ask Derek if he’d seen any downtown but that thought shriveled away when he remembered why he couldn’t really do that.

“We think they might be recruiting, as well,” his dad said, finishing off his glass with a final swallow. “Based on the location of the taggings and those who were involved.”  
“But…” his dad said as he stood and pointed a finger at Stiles. “That’s all I can tell you. Don’t go looking for trouble, son.”

Stiles nodded at him as he made his way to the sink and tried not to let himself think about the fact that the case files were probably up in his dad’s room right now. Gang activity was safe compared to werewolves but Stiles didn’t really want to risk his dad’s job again.

“I’m going to go and get a shower, then I figured we could settle in with some TV or something,” his dad said, swiping a hand down his face. Stiles figured that meant that his dad would probably end up passed out in the recliner halfway through a movie but figured that wouldn’t be so bad.

“Yeah, sure” Stiles said as he waved him off on his way to the living room. He stopped when he heard his dad take in a sharp breath, whipped around.

His dad wasn’t looking at him, but right past him into the living room and Stiles didn’t have to follow his line of sight to know what he was staring at. He glanced anyway at the easel he’d gotten down from the attic set up right beside the living room window, lit up by the warm glow of the lamps in the living room now that the sun had set. He whipped back around to face his father, eyes a little wide because he meant to tell his dad about it. Or maybe he meant to ask him about it. 

Ask/tell.

“Yeah, so…” Stiles said, running a hand through his hair, which has finally gotten long enough to run a hand through. “I didn’t have an easel and I needed one to finish this painting so I figured I’d just grab Mom’s?”

“You went in the attic?” his dad said, not sounding angry but more incredulous. 

“Um yeah, just for a couple of things” Stiles said, biting his lip, truly nervous that he’d upset his dad. “Look, I can just put it all back upstairs, I’m sorry—“

“No” his dad said, quickly. “No, it’s fine, son. It’s fine, you’re right, you needed an easel and…”

He glanced back into the living room and Stiles watched as a wistful smile broke across his face. “We could do with some more art around the house again, don’t you think?”

“Yeah” Stiles nodded, beaming at his father. He felt his eyes burning a little so he ducked his head just as his dad pulled him into a strong hug. “I love you, dad”

“I love you too, son,” his dad said over his head. 

They separated and Stiles patted him on the shoulder before making a shooing motion. “Alright now, go, you smell like the police station: donuts and sweat.”

His dad chuckled, shaking his head at the joke and headed upstairs. Stiles headed back into the living room, staring at the easel with his canvas for his final project already set up on it and smiled more genuinely. It felt right, having it there again. He was afraid it would dig into him, burn through the part of him that would never be filled after his mother’s death but it didn’t. It felt like the living room was whole again.

Stiles took a breath before gathering his supplies to paint for a little bit before he settled onto the couch with his dad for the night. Sometime later when he was sprawled out, watching Alien with his dad predictably snoring in the recliner, he felt content but the itch to grab his phone and text Derek and make everything better was still there. 

Stiles ignored it.

*

The next morning, Stiles was up bright and early for what was sure to be the worst lacrosse practice session of the summer. After a quick shower to wake himself up, he was in his lacrosse gear and downstairs for some quick breakfast. His dad had already left for work that morning by the time he was dressed so Stiles just grabbed a pop tart and a water from the fridge before heading out. 

On the way to the lacrosse field, Stiles chewed on his pop tart and nodded along to the sounds of whatever pop songs were on the radio, actually feeling in somewhat of a good mood and for once, totally rested. It was then that he realized he hadn’t had a nightmare in a few nights. He was afraid to feel relieved for the fact in case it brought them back on, but some part of himself felt like maybe he was finally getting past it and he let out a whooshing breath at the thought.

Stiles was right in thinking practice would be rough, as he realized not long after being there and being yelled at Finstock first thing in the morning. The coach must have overdosed on crazy pills because he had them running, doing ladders and practicing shots all morning and midday. Stiles was pretty sure he was going to puke himself inside out by the time he collapsed onto the ground, pouring what was left of his water all over his face. He squinted up at Scott and Isaac who were standing over him barely breaking a sweat and scowled.

“I hate you both. So. Much.” He panted out. He flopped a hand over onto his face and flinched when it stung his skin. Oh yeah, he was definitely going to have some sort of sunburn.

Scott laughed while Isaac simply smirked down at him. “You want to run with wolves and you can’t even run lacrosse?” 

Stiles let out a groan, flailed his arms out for Scott and Isaac to help him up, both of them finally giving in after a moment and grabbing them. “At this moment, I honestly feel like Finstock has the most chances of killing me than werewolves”

Isaac canted his head, conceding to Stiles’ point and then they were all being called back onto the field. Despite their enhanced abilities, even Scott and Isaac groaned their upset about it. 

By the time practice was over, Stiles was ready to just collapse on the field and sleep there until the next day. He was sweaty, tired and ached in places he didn’t even know he could ache. He complained about as much to Scott and Isaac on the way to their cars.

“Stiles, we get it” Scott said, managing to look just as sluggish as Stiles was. “We’re tired, too, you know? Let’s just get to your house and eat…”

Stiles noticed that despite how douchey Isaac liked to appear, he was still pretty sensitive about things and was now playing off how awkward he felt about not getting invited by sticking his leg out to trip Scott while they were walking. So he made a decision that warred against the petty parts of himself.

“Isaac, you wanna join us for dinner? You and Scott can ride with me” he said, coming up behind him and wrapping an arm around both his and Scott’s necks. “My dad cooks the best chili in Beacon Hills—“

“In the world” Scott moans obscenely in agreement.

“—And I’m positive there’ll be more than enough to go around, so…” Stiles said, wagging his eyebrows until Isaac grins and nods.

“Yeah, okay, I just need to call my foster mom and let her know” 

“Yeah, how’s it going living there, by the way?” Scott said, as they reached their respective vehicles.

Stiles half-listened to Isaac talk about his new foster parents as he got into the Jeep and grabbed his phone that he’d left turned off and pressed the on button. He stared at it for a couple of seconds while Scott and Isaac grabbed their things from Isaac’s car, waiting for some sort of alert or text message to pop up then sighing when it didn’t. He didn’t know why he kept expecting a message, a phone call—anything, from Derek but he did. He didn’t want to apologize for kissing him because he wasn’t sorry and he couldn’t lie to Derek. Stiles liked the kiss. Stiles wanted very many more kisses and then whatever came from that. 

But Derek had jumped out of his bedroom window to get away from him. You couldn’t spell rejection better than that.

“Oh just call him already” Isaac said, suddenly right in front of him. Stiles jumped, falling further into his driver’s seat and glaring at Isaac who was smirking. “He’s moping, too.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about” Stiles said, firmly. “And Derek always mopes so I don’t know how today would be any different.”

Isaac snorted, gave an eye roll as he climbed into the backseat of the Jeep with his gym bag just as Scott was coming to the passenger side with his backpack. Scott gave Stiles a curious look when he got into the car but didn’t say anything about what Isaac had said to him, despite the fact that Stiles knew he’d heard it. Hard to keep quiet conversations around werewolves, Stiles was reminded. 

When they got to Stiles’ house, they all piled into the kitchen where his dad fought them off with a spoon, threatening to hoard it all himself if they didn’t calm down. He settled down at the table with Isaac and Scott as both started bitching to his dad about Finstock and how insane he was and how they wished he’d kick Greenberg off already. Stiles laughed and joked along with them all through dinner and even his dad looked a little lighter in the face than he’d been lately. Stiles couldn’t stop the niggling feeling in the back of his mind about Derek, nor the itch to just grab his phone and text him. Isaac seemed to notice and would shoot Stiles a knowing look that he would completely ignore.

After dinner, Stiles felt completely and utterly exhausted as he drove Scott and Isaac back to the school to get Isaac’s car. Normally, they would have just run back to school but his dad would have found that suspicious considering they’d all been run ragged that day. As he pulled up to the parking lot and Isaac hopped out, Scott turned to him.

“You alright, man? You’ve kind of seemed out of it tonight” he said, keeping his voice low so that maybe Isaac couldn’t hear it over the rumbling of the Jeep’s engine from where he was at his car.

Stiles shrugged. “Yeah, dude, I’m fine. Just tired, is all”

It wasn’t a complete lie. Stiles ached all over and was so ready to go home, shower and sleep until he was forty. He’d hoped to finish his sketch and maybe work on his final project after his friends left but now he thought bed sounded better. Sure, there was also the fact that Stiles was the slightest bit preoccupied with Derek and the fact there was so much radio silence between them. He didn’t want to think about the fact that Derek may have gone out and gotten attacked again.

When Scott didn’t look convinced, Stiles laughed and shoved at him. “I swear, I’m fine, alright? Now go home before you pass out in my passenger seat.”

Scott nodded, blowing out a tired sigh. “Okay, yeah. Bro time tomorrow?”

“Nah, I can’t” Stiles said, shaking his head regrettably. “Gotta work on these projects if I’m gonna have them done in time for the art show.”

“Oh yeah, I already asked Deaton off for that night” Scott said, excitedly. “Alright, man, I’ll see you later.”

“Later, dude!” Stiles said, with a wave. 

It wasn’t until Stiles had pulled out of the parking lot and out on the road that what Scott said really sunk in and his stomach wrapped itself up in knots. Scott was going to see his art. Stiles’ dad was going to see his art. People were going to see his art. Only a handful had seen Stiles’ art and they’d only seen it singularly, not all at once in a crowd where Stiles had to see their collective reactions. 

Oh, God why did he think he could do this?

He realizes he’s driving further into town and not anywhere near the road back to his house when he’s pulling down the street of Derek’s apartment building. But he can feel the panic rising in him and Derek’s the only person he can think of to come to with this. So, he’s out of his car as soon as it’s parked and the engine cuts off and he’s scrambling up the steps of the building before he can have a second thought. He doesn’t bother texting or calling Derek to ask him for permission, just jumps into the elevator and mashes the button to the top floor.

The elevator ride to the top is quick but also slow enough that Stiles is shifting from foot to foot and jumping up and down on his heels in anxiety. When the lift finally stops on Derek’s floor and the gate opens, Stiles is both floored and yet not surprised at all to see Derek standing in front of it, shirtless and in pajama pants, with his arms crossed over his broad chest. The apartment’s all dark except for the light spilling in from the wall of windows at the far side of the apartment and the fluorescent lighting of kitchen to the right of them. He’s scowling tiredly at Stiles, but there’s no real heat there. In fact, Stiles thinks he can even see some worry.

“Stiles” Derek said, framing it as a both a statement and question in that way he did sometimes.

“I can’t do it” Stiles gasped out, stepping forward and jiggling his hand where it’s started tingling like it’s fallen asleep. Stiles was pretty sure he was going to puke. The panic attack had come out of nowhere and seemed so ridiculous but Stiles couldn’t help it. “They’re going to see my art, Derek and they’re going to judge it and I can’t do it.”

“Stiles” Derek said, but he must’ve realized his voice wasn’t being heard cause he spoke louder and reached a hand out to grab Stiles’ shoulder. “Stiles! Calm down.”

Stiles’ stared back at Derek’s stupidly handsome face, which was only a couple inches away from his now, eyebrows furrowed in concern and determination. He could feel the heat of Derek’s hand seeping through his shirt into his skin. Stiles breathed in and out, feeling his heart rate slow down a little as he focused on Derek in front of him.

“It’s all going to be fine”, Derek said firmly. “No one is going to judge you or grade you or anything.”

“But—“

“No, Stiles. It’s going to be fine” Derek said, his voice going soft in that way Stiles was becoming way too used to hearing. The scowl was gone from his face now and Stiles was melting in the face of Derek’s honest expression. “And you have nothing to worry about. Everyone is going to love your sketches and your paintings.”

Stiles found his breathing slowing down, felt himself cooling down from where the creeping panic had him overheating. He wiped at the tears that had broken through. “How do you know?”

“Because I know talent when I see it, Stiles” Derek said, his voice steady enough that Stiles knew he was telling the truth. Stiles slumped down in his seat from sheer relief. He was still terrified to let everyone see his work but less now that he had Derek’s confidence. Which should irritate him but he had gotten past the point of caring just how much Derek affected him.

In the silence of the apartment and the awkwardness following the surprise panic attack, Stiles asked the question that had been burning in him since he last saw Derek.

“Are you coming?” Stiles said, clearing his throat when it cracked on the words. He peered up at Derek who was staring at Stiles in the way he’d done the other day in his room and that was just not a place his mind needed to go. “To the art show, that is?”

“I... Maybe. I mean, I might still enter some of my things” Derek said, his voice suddenly very quiet. He ran a hand through the messy spikes of his hair, mussed from sleep he’d probably been getting before Stiles had shown up unannounced.

“That’s good. I think that’s a good idea,” Stiles said, suddenly feeling very nervous. “Listen, Derek, about the other day…”

“Don’t worry about it, Stiles” Derek said, his voice back to being sure and strong but not in the way Stiles liked, his eyes were blank and free of any emotion as he spoke. “We can just forget it happened.”

Stiles felt his stomach drop and he had to fight not to let out a breath because he refused to let Derek know what he was feeling. Derek wanted to forget it happened. And of course, he did, why wouldn’t he? Stiles was just some kid and Derek was freaking… Derek. Why would he want Stiles? 

“…Stiles?” Derek said, at length when Stiles had been quiet just a little too long. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his pajama pants which caused them to slip a little lower on his hips and Stiles just really needed to leave cause this was just not fair.

“Yeah, yeah that sounds fine, Derek” Stiles said, making sure to keep his voice just as steady as his heartbeat. “Friends?”

“Yeah” Derek said, but Stiles didn’t believe his tone. “Yeah, we’re friends.”

“Cool” Stiles said. “Awesome. Later, Derek”

He didn’t give Derek a chance to reply before turning and stepping back into the elevator. Stiles gave him a half-hearted wave and Derek responded with a nod before pulling the gate of the elevator down. Stiles kept his eyes locked on Derek’s until the elevator sunk past his floor before he closed them, knocking his head back on the wall of the elevator. 

Derek and he were friends. That was great. If Derek didn’t want to be his friend, he’d surely tell Stiles to go fuck himself or annoy someone else, right? Right. Still, Stiles couldn’t help but wonder as he got into his Jeep and headed home why he felt so shitty if it was a good thing that he and Derek were still friends.


	8. "Send in your peaceful loss to me"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was obviously not the freak-out Stiles was expecting to have tonight when he’d been preparing for the art show.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOOOOOO SHIT. Okay so this is the final chapter for reals and it is 10,000+ words so.... *tired whoop*. Nah, but really, I hope this chapter works for you all as an ending because I've had the rough draft of the plot for it built up since the beginning. This art show has been everything I've been working toward for many reasons. Thank you ALL for reading and reviewing, you've made me so proud of my first Sterek fic. This last chapter is dedicated to my friend, Eric, who's probably been my biggest fan of this fic the whole way through. You rock!
> 
> Here goes nothing....

Stiles loses himself on Sunday.

The night before, he’d come home right after his little visit with Derek and hadn’t let himself think about it as he showered and collapsed into his bed. He dreamt of his visit going just a little differently, though. With less panic, tears and disappointment and more him making out with Derek with frantic fingers in that messy black hair, his scruff burning up Stiles lips’ before pulling down those damned pajama pants and… well. Stiles would take sexually frustrated and eternally disappointed over night terrors about being tortured any day. At least one leads to a pretty nice wake-up jerk-off session.

His dad goes to work that morning and after taking a nice lazy day to sleep in til midday, Stiles warms himself some breakfast burritos and juice before he completely immerses himself in his painting in the way that’s become second nature to him in the past month. He stands at his place in front of his mom’s easel next to the window, opening the blinds to let in the sunlight. He plugs his earphones in with his iPod on shuffle, as usual, and sets to work with his palette and brushes.

Stiles still isn’t the biggest fan of painting despite Derek’s tips on how to become better but there are things about it he likes. When he sketches, he mostly just curls up on the couch or in his bed or contort himself in his desk chair and goes to town. He’s calm, peaceful and just out of his mind. But with painting, he’s erratic, constantly moving and on his feet. He thinks more on his feet, quite literally, where everything would just come to him in the comfort of his room. Stiles feels like in that moment that he can be both in his head and in the groove of swiping his brush across the canvas.

He tends to get messy because he’s Stiles and of course he does, so he ends up with streaks of brown and red running up and down his bare arms. He could even feel some across his face where he was sure he’d gone to rub some off and just smeared it more. But he recalls Ms. Wansley saying ‘you’re not getting into your art right if you’re not getting messy’ and so he feels like he’s doing something right by being covered in it from his head to his basketball shorts.

It’s late afternoon by the time Stiles finishes the painting and he stands for several minutes in front of it with his paint-streaked arms crossed over his equally mottled, worn Beacon Hills High shirt. It takes a few moments of tracking his eyes over every single detail of the painting before he smiles in contentment, enjoying the way the afternoon rays of the sinking sun filter in through the blinds and across the browns, reds and golds of the paint. He signs his name with a small brush at the bottom right edge of the painting, making sure to make it blend somewhat seamlessly into the painting, at the same time before grabbing his brushes and palette to wash.

Stiles is humming along to a Florence + the Machine song blasting through his iPod as he’s heading upstairs when his eye catch on something through the opened door of his dad’s office. He stops, pulls his earphones out and turns to see a different set of pictures on the bulletin board behind his desk than there was before. Stiles had vowed to himself not to enter his dad’s office after he nearly lost his job thanks to him but, he reasoned with himself, if he could make out what was on the bulletin boards from the hall, he wasn’t technically in the office.

Stiles held his paint and glass filled with dirty paint water with brushes sticking out of it away from his body as he leaned closer to the doorframe, squinting into the dim light of the desk lamp that pretty much always stayed on. He could make out photos of what appeared to be brick walls and paneling outside of houses with strange markings painted on. He could see photos of people that he assumed were suspects or those who’d been recruited for the gang but their faces were covered by the other photos of the symbol. That was what had struck a chord with Stiles in a way that had goosebumps rising all over his body. The symbol was the same on every surface in every photograph and for some reason, it looked familiar. 

But why?

Stiles startled when he heard the sound of the door opening downstairs and hurried into the bathroom when he heard his dad’s voice calling for him. 

“Yeah! I’m washing up.” He called out the opened bathroom door as he started the sink, washing out his palette.

He winced when he heard his dad’s footsteps coming up the stairs, heard them pause in front of his office before he stuck his head in the bathroom doorway with a suspicious look on his face. 

“Stiles, were you in my office?” he said, his voice casual but Stiles could hear the weariness in it in preparation for a scolding.

“No, dad” Stiles said, studiously keeping his eyes on where he was washing out his brushes. 

When his dad didn’t reply or didn’t move from the doorway, he looked over with a put-upon look. Only took a month to revert back to lying, that must be a record. “Look, there’s no offense, but if there’s no murders going on or no dead bodies turning up in the woods, I’m not really interested?”

It was a complete and total lie because Stiles was always into his dad’s cases despite what they were about. He was fascinated about the mystery of it all and how all the tiny little parts of it made a bigger picture. Which really also explained Stiles’ love of art, as well. But this was different, this time. He wasn’t sure why but that symbol he’d seen in his dad’s office on the faces of buildings all over Beacon Hills was important, he just knew it. The less his dad knew about what Stiles may or may not know, the better.

His dad rolled his eyes, but didn’t look suspicious any longer. “Alright, well hurry and finish washing up cause I’m starving. Does Joy’s sound good for dinner tonight?”

The bar of soap Stiles was using to clean up his arms slipped out of his hand and into the sink with a plunk! sound as he turned and stared at his dad wide-eyed. “Joy’s? As in, the diner?”

His dad hadn’t been to Joy’s Diner since his mom had died and Stiles had only recently been able to start setting foot in there without feeling a surge of loss in him. He still found his eyes landing on the same booth where they all used to sit as a family. The fact that his dad was thinking about going back there for dinner was a big deal.

“Well, yeah? Unless you don’t want?” His dad was smiling at Stiles like he was crazy, but Stiles knew he knew damn well what Stiles meant. There was something in his eyes, though, that Stiles took as a cue not to make this a thing.

Stiles didn’t push it, just grinned as he finished washing off his arms before spraying the excess water at his dad. “Sounds good to me but you’re getting the grilled chicken strips, not a burger!”

Stiles ignored his dad’s protests as they headed downstairs and out the door, nor did he bother to hide his giddiness on the way to the diner. His dad seemed more than pleased to put up with the excess chatter.

There was a moment when they first walked into the diner that Stiles was genuinely afraid that his dad was going to break down then and there. He froze just inside the doorway, the bell above the door tingling and the sounds of the servers greeting them filling the air. Stiles could practically hear the breath catch his dad’s throat as his eyes landed on that same booth that Stiles had glanced at every time he walked in there. Then the elderly waitress that had waited on he and Derek just a few weeks ago came up to them, brightening when she recognized the sheriff.

Stiles let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding when his dad relaxed his shoulders and smiled at the waitress. Which is when she started in on how she hadn’t even recognized Stiles and she started gushing on how handsome he’d gotten which had Stiles ducking his head in embarrassment. His dad grinned in pride and hugged him to his side, started talking about how proud he was of him. Which is of course when the waitress (Dell, Stiles realized thanks to her nametag) mentioned just how adorable she thought Stiles and his boyfriend with the angry eyebrows were.

Stiles and his dad stilled at the same time, both unnoticed by Dell, who was now walking away to lead them to their booth. Stiles hurried along after her, feeling his cheeks heat up as well as feeling his dad’s eyes on the back of his head as he followed them both. Once they were seated and Dell was off to get their drink orders with a smile that was oblivious to just how much she’d screwed up, Stiles’ dad turned on him with his arms crossed, expression screaming “explain, Stiles”. Stiles didn’t think his face could get any hotter.

“Derek and I are not dating” Stiles rushed out. “We came here as friends one day—just one—and she just… assumed!”

“Uh-huh” his dad said, unconvinced, his eyes narrowing at Stiles. 

“Dad, I swear” Stiles said, palms open on the table between them, pleading. “Trust me, there is nothing going on between me and Derek Hale.”

“Then why is Derek walking in here right now, Stiles?”

Stiles’ spluttered before practically breaking his neck to turn around in his booth and seeing… no one. At least, no one was at the door or in the restaurant with the broody face and the black leather and looking like Stiles’ wet dreams come true. Stiles whipped back around to ask his dad what he was talking about and blushed even deeper under his dad’s scrutiny.

“Stiles, you’re lying”

“Dad, I’m not, okay?” Stiles said, dropping all humor. “Derek and I are just friends, I’ll swear on a Bible or something if you want me to.”

His dad snorted at him. “Somehow I don’t think that would stop you, son”

Stiles scowled at his dad but didn’t respond, as that was the moment when Dell arrived with their drinks. Stiles kept his mouth shut about his dad’s choice of root beer considering Stiles had chosen a carbonated soda as well and his dad looked smug about it. After Dell had their orders for food, Stiles making sure his dad stuck to what Stiles warned him about, but relenting with french fries as a side and Stiles going for a burger and fries, the conversation thankfully moved on to less mortifying and potentially harmful (to Derek) topics. 

“So you ready for tomorrow night?” his dad said, hands clasped on the table between them.

“Sure, I guess” Stiles shrugged, fiddling with his straw. 

The differences between him and his dad were the most striking in moments like these when they both had to sit still and talk. His dad was always so calm, focused and grounded whereas his dad had always sworn Stiles was like his mother, always so loud, full of energy and constantly moving. But where his mother’s energetic personality had been more muted, Stiles’ ADD brought it out full spectrum and made him erratic. Thank God for Adderall, lacrosse and well, now, art.

His dad quirked an eyebrow at him, smiled. “You don’t seem too enthusiastic, son. Nervous?”

“Maybe a little bit?” Stiles said, wincing. “I mean, I know it’s not a big deal but it’s a bunch of people coming in and staring at my stuff that I’ve put a lot of hard work into and… I don’t know.”

His dad’s smile brightened as he sat back in his booth, looking out the window. Stiles scoffed at him, offended, threw his crumbled up straw wrapper at his father. “Are you seriously laughing at me, right now, dad?”

“Yes” his father nodded, still chuckling. “But not because I think you’re being ridiculous but because you never stop reminding me of your mother. 

“Really?” Stiles said, leaning forward on his arms eagerly.

His father nodded, ran a hand through his hair, one of the few nervous gestures Stiles had inherited. “She’d always get so frantic before an art show, too. Hated having her works judged, too, because she didn’t think ‘creativity and imagination had any place being judged.”

Stiles grinned because he could imagine her saying it in that voice of hers that came out when she was passionate about something, just like when the Mets would play. 

“She’d be proud of you, son” his father said, his voice sure and strong and just shaky enough to have Stiles’ throat tightening. “I know she’d be standing there tomorrow night right along with us if she could be”

Stiles knew that was true and wished he didn’t have to face the art show without her but suddenly, he felt more assured that he could do it than he had been in the days before. He had so many people’s confidence in him: Scott’s, his dad’s, his mom’s. Even Derek’s conviction meant something to him now. So, yeah, he could do this. He would do this.

“Thanks, Dad” Stiles said through a genuine grin. His dad gave him a small nod in response.

Dell returned with their food then and the emotional talk was stowed in face of good diner food in a place they hadn’t shared since before Stiles’ mom had gotten sick. 

It was a good day.

*

Monday morning, Stiles awakes to his alarm ready and alert as if he were prepared for battle. He hurried through his shower too fast and had to waste time after wolfing down his pop tarts whole before leaving for his last art class. So he actually focused on cleaning his room, which took a good fifteen minutes. His dad had already left for work before Stiles woke up, so Stiles couldn’t chat with him to waste time, which left him pacing the living room until the time he normally left.

It wasn’t that he was freaking out as he had a lot of nervous energy and he was really just ready to get the night over with. It was a lot like in middle school when he had to do those damn choral performances and Stiles would have to stand out in the hall of whatever classroom his choral group were waiting in to walk off the excess energy or his teacher would throw things at him for not being still. It was performance anxiety, except Stiles didn’t have to do shit. He just had to stand there and walk around a ginormous space set up with his and his classmate’s works while everyone else did the same, only they were looking at his art, too.

So yeah. Stiles was not nervous. Not at all.

Which is why he takes the drive to the community center with his fingers drumming on the steering wheel completely out of rhythm with whatever music he wasn’t listening to playing on the radio. His mind bounced from the art show to the people attending the art show to seeing Derek at the art show and it was really a miracle he made it to class in one piece and wasn’t being pulled over by one of his dad’s deputies.

When he walked in, it was just like every other class session had been the few weeks before but with an air of how he would expect graduation practice would feel like, if he lived long enough to experience that. But it was also comparable to being around others in the chorus group he’d been in on the day of a performance. The tables that had set up the first two weeks of class were back and everyone was rushing around the room with supplies to make sure everything was finished and prepared for the art show that night. Stiles was finished with all of his projects but was a little bit unsure about them so he’d decided he’d spend the class time tweaking his sketches.

Ms. Wansley showed up at his side, reaching out for the canvas he had under one arm that was wrapped beneath a sheet but he pulled it back at the last second, nerves getting the best of him. 

“I, uh” Stiles said, to her patient expression. “I’d just rather not reveal it to the whole class just yet?”

She smiled understandably. “Don’t worry, Stiles, I was just going to put it in the store room for later when I get all the works loaded to be delivered.”

“Oh. Right” Stiles said, handing the canvas over to her, sheepishly. 

When she’d returned from the storeroom with her warm smile, Stiles relinquished his sketchbook before she even reached for it. She gladly accepted, flipping through with murmurs under her breath and wearing a pleased grin the whole time. When she reached the final page, a wondrous expression dawned on her face and Stiles watched, blushing, as she ran her fingers over the drawing. It was a sketch he’d put a lot of heart into, that was for sure.

“Who is she?” she said, tilting the sketchbook Stiles’ way so he could get a look at the drawing, as well.

“She was—is a friend,” Stiles said, putting emphasis on ‘is’ because he was still hopeful despite how things looked. “She’s pretty awesome.”

He glanced down at the drawing he’d started on the night he’d taken Derek to his apartment then chewed out Scott. Amongst the thoughts that stirred chaos in his mind, one had surfaced and made its way onto paper. Erica had clawed her way to the forefront of Stiles’ mind that night like she’d done with the social ladder at school after her bite. His concern and fear that something had happened to her, that someone had harmed her or worse, had spawned something worthwhile. He couldn’t track her down, didn’t have any powers, didn’t even know where to begin with unraveling hers and most likely, Boyd’s mystery but this, he could do.

Erica stood bruised, bloodied but triumphant and victorious amongst a coil of briars that wound their way around her body, ripping through her clothes and cutting up her skin. As the briars wound their way toward the crown of her head, they bloomed into roses. Stiles felt it represented her perfectly, was confident she’d think it was straight up badass if she saw it. She’d struggled against something that she couldn’t get away from her whole life and with Derek’s bite, turned herself into something she found beautiful. She’d found the beauty in her pain.

“I’m sure she’ll love it, Stiles” Wansley said with another smile. “Are you going to enter it into the show?” 

Stiles nodded and Ms. Wansley clapped her hands together once after she’d returned his sketchbook to him. “Great. Take a seat and we’ll go over some final little things.”

Stiles took his seat at the same table he’d been sitting at in the beginning and was a little surprised when Paula took a seat next to him with a genuine smile. Wansley started the class soon after that, giving them some last minute directions on what to do and how to mat their art that needed it and so forth. Stiles was pleased to hear that the class transferred for high school or college credits, as well, which meant he could start at the next level of classes when school started back.

“I’ve really and truly enjoyed having you all here in my class,” Ms. Wansley said, hands clasped together in front of her as she beamed at the class. “I hope you’ve enjoyed it as well, that you’ll take whatever you’ve learned here and apply it to wherever you choose, whether a hobby or, who knows, a profession.” 

Stiles smiled back at her when her eyes landed on him as her eyes flitted between people in the class. He’d forgotten that it had been the confidence of his mother’s closest friend that had kept him going at times in this class, and really, he didn’t know how he’d have been able to do it without her.

After only an hour of final touches and matting sketches and paintings, the class was dismissed and the art that was to be entered in the show was set up in the storeroom of the building for movers to deliver. There was nothing left to do but wait for that night. Well, Stiles still had lacrosse practice that day to look forward to, but still.

Ms. Wansley gave everyone a handshake and another thank you as they exited the classroom and Stiles made sure he was at the very last in line due to the fact he wasn’t sure how exactly to say thank you for all she’d done. But finally, his turn came up and he didn’t hesitate to pull her into a hug, which she accepted with a smile. Stiles was beginning to think the woman didn’t know how to frown.

Stiles was still grinning on his way out the door of the classroom and wasn’t looking where he was going when he walked right into a brick wall. Of someone’s leather bound chest. Derek’s chest, he realized with a flush through his cheeks. The same Derek who was currently looking down at him with an exasperated but amused expression with his sketchbook under one arm and a canvas underneath the other.

“No that’s fine, I don’t need help,” Stiles said, scrambling to his feet, mouth on autopilot as he swatted a hand against the seat of his jeans. 

“Uh” Derek said, glancing pointedly to where his arms were currently full. “Yes, please forgive me for not helping you up, Stiles”.

Stiles snorted at his deadpan response, nodded toward Derek’s arms. “So, that’s all you’re entering for the show?”

“No, I have more in the car” Derek said, shrugging.

“Oh need some help?” Stiles offered, hoping he wasn’t coming off as too eager to see Derek’s entries.

Derek’s eyes widened momentarily, just quick enough that if Stiles hadn’t been looking him directly in the eyes he would have missed it. 

“No that’s okay, I’ll get it” Derek said. “I’m sure you have lacrosse in a bit anyway”

Stiles cursed under his breath, remembering he was actually in a hurry and started on his way before turning back to Derek. “So I’ll see you tonight then?”

“I…” Derek sighed. “Probably not. I don’t… really do crowds. I’ve never liked art shows.”

Stiles gave him a small smile despite his disappointment. “My mom was the same way.”

Derek stared at him for a moment, his eyes sliding down his face before he ducked his head. Stiles took a step backwards, giving Derek an out. “Later, Derek.”

“Yeah” Derek said quietly. “Later”

Just as Stiles was pushing open one of the double doors at the entrance of the building, Derek’s voice called after him. “Hey, Stiles!”

Stiles turned back, eyebrows raised in question at Derek who was still standing with his things tucked under his arms, looking awkward and ridiculously hot doing it. He seemed to debate something internally for a moment, his face doing some complicated expression before he finally gave Stiles an earnest smile.

“You’ll do great tonight, I know it” he said, before turning and entering Wansley’s classroom and leaving Stiles to gape after him.

*

“Stiles, dude, calm down” Scott said, from where he was sprawled on Stiles’ bed for what had to be the fifteenth time that day. 

He and Isaac (who was lying back on the floor with his eyes closed, arms pillowing his head) had come home with Stiles after a relatively easy lacrosse practice and would be riding with him to the art show in just an hour. They’d wasted the rest of the afternoon after showering by playing video games, Stiles using his excess energy to kick Scott’s ass but Stiles hadn’t been able to sit still any longer as the clock ticked closer to time to go.

“You’re gonna burn a hole in the freaking carpet!”

Stiles stopped his pacing to whip around at Scott, a finger pointing at him. “You calm down!”

As far as comebacks went, it wasn’t Stiles’ best moment but he was currently preoccupied with other matters. He’d been good until he started to think about whether or not he’d fixed a mistake on one of his sketches. He’d remembered that, of course he had fixed it but then his mind had started to unravel from there. Isaac reached out for Stiles’ ankle without even opening his eyes, his hand wrapping around it and sending Stiles flailing to the floor beside him.

“Dog pile on Stiles!” Scott shouted, much to Stiles’ horror, just before leaping off the bed and tumbling onto Stiles’ back who squawked under his weight. 

Stiles wasn’t surprised when the weight deepened thanks to the addition of Isaac’s body, long and lanky, lying on top of Scott. He wheezed for a moment, laughing with whatever air was left in his lungs at the sheer ridiculousness of his best friend and well, Isaac was quickly becoming a good friend of his.

“Alright, alright!” Stiles wheezed beneath the two werewolves, slapping his hand on the floor. “I tap out!”

Stiles was relieved when they slid off of him, Isaac digging his elbow into Stiles’ back as he leaned on his hand, inspecting his fingernails while Scott pillowed his head on Stiles’ back. Stiles blew out a breath that was half-annoyance but mostly fondness. “Like damned puppies…”

“Shut up” Isaac said, without any heat behind it, smirking at him.

Scott smiled goofily down at him. “Feel better?”

Stiles snorted, “yeah, buddy, I’m being used as a werewolf pillow, I’m feeling awesome.”

Scott poked him in the ribs with an elbow, causing Stiles to yelp in pain. “You know what I meant, dude! Your head was about to explode from how much you were freaking out.”

“Yeah I’m good, man,” Stiles said before scrambling to his feet, pushing Isaac and Scott off him as he did. “Thanks, guys”

“Whatever” Isaac said, shrugging before giving Isaac a shove on his way out of Stiles’ room. “I’m going to find something to eat in your kitchen that’s not made with tofu or kale.”

“Leave the bacon alone!” Stiles shouted after him before turning to face Scott who was back on his bed. 

Stiles flopped down on the bed beside him, not caring about wrinkling his nice button-up shirt or dress pants that he’d picked out to wear. Scott nudged him from where he lay next to him, both of them staring at Stiles’ ceiling.

“Seriously, man, everything’s going to be fine” Scott said, even though his feet were shaking energetically where they sat on the floor because he was definitely picking up on Stiles’ nervous. “You’ve got nothing to worry about”

“I know” Stiles said, blowing out a breath. His eyes traced the dots over his bed where he and Scott had once laid there and shot pens at his ceiling. “It’s kind of like when you get yourself psyched up before a big game though. I mean, yeah, before I was freaking the fuck out but now…”

He saw Scott’s eyes slide over to him out of the corner of his eye. “Now?”

“I’ll have my friends, my dad there… my mom…” Stiles sighed. 

“She’ll be there, too” Scott said, surety ringing in his voice. “Like always”

“Yeah” Stiles said with a smile. “Yeah, you’re right”

“What about Derek?” Scott said, frowning. “Isn’t he going to be there?”

“Ahh no” Stiles said, shrugging. “He’s not a fan of crowds but… he basically told me I was going to kick ass tonight, so…”

Scott’s eyebrows rose “He said that?”

“Well, not in so many words but we both know I will” Stiles said, facing Scott with wagging eyebrows to which Scott laughed.

“And he’s back to being a dick, ladies and gentlemen,” Scott said, chuckling and shoving at Stiles before standing, Stiles following him out the door downstairs.

“So what’s the deal with you two then?” Isaac’s voice coming to meet them in the hallway at the bottom of the stairs, finishing off an apple and making no attempts to hide that he had been eavesdropping.

“Awkward friendship” Stiles said, scowling at him as he stomped into his shoes. “Don’t wanna talk about it. Ready to go?”

“Will there be food at this thing?” Scott said, on the way out, Isaac nodding along enthusiastically and causing Stiles to roll his eyes at them both on the way to the Jeep.

Either of them needn’t have worried, though, because there was a buffet table of finger foods and punch just begging to be obliterated by two teenage lycanthropes straight inside the doors of the multipurpose building of the community center. Stiles could see Scott practically salivating when they walked in and Stiles let them loose on it, hoping they didn’t take anyone’s limbs off in the process.

They were out in the lobby now with two sets of double doors ahead, one to the left of the long buffet table and one to the right and just inside was where the art show had been set up. People were already beginning to arrive, mulling around the lobby, including some of Stiles’ fellow school classmates and art classmates, some of both surprising him by acknowledging him. Must be the new hair or something. Stiles glanced down at his cellphone just as he felt a hand settle on his shoulder, causing him to whirl around in surprise and glower at his dad.

“Am I late? Did I at least get here before Scott?” his dad said, oblivious to how he’d just scared the crap out of his son. Stiles gave him a cursory glance, and then gave him an approving nod. His dad didn’t dress up often but had taken to wearing his typical khaki dress pants, a nice white button up and dark jacket tonight. It made a part of Stiles twinge when he remembered the last time he dressed up had been for his mom’s funeral but he pushed it away.

“No you’re right on time and Scott’s over there with Isaac and that girl” Stiles said, squinting over at the trio over by the food table. 

Sure enough, there was Emily who worked at BOP’s, whom Scott had embarrassed Stiles in front of, currently chatting up Isaac. He sighed, turned and gave his dad a look that said ‘not bad’. “No one’s going to recognize you without your sheriff’s uniform on, pops!”

“Don’t call me that, Stiles,” his dad said, wincing. Stiles thought he was just shrinking away from the compliment, though. “It makes me sound so—“

“Old?” Stiles said, affecting mock sympathy then gave him a grin. “Sorry to say you’re no spring chicken anymore, Dad”

His dad rolled his eyes. “Yes, I know and I have you to thank for every one of my gray hairs, son so why don’t you just—“

“John? Stiles?”

Stiles and his dad turned and saw Ms. Wansley who was walking their way and well—wow, was dressed in an elegant yet casual black dress that accentuated all her curves without making her look provocative. She looked gorgeous and Stiles wasn’t the least bit ashamed to say so. His dad was thinking along the same lines, the way his jaw was dropping and his eyes were roaming just a little too slowly. Stiles definitely inherited his inability to discreetly check someone out from his dad.

“Dad, I told you Ms. Wansley was my teacher” Stiles said, subtly elbowing his father in the side while forcing a grin at Ms. Wansley. 

“Madeline” his dad corrected him and held out his hand for Ms. Wansley to shake, snapping out of whatever trance he’d been in. Stiles was going to give him so much crap for this later, he couldn’t even wait.

Ms. Wansley must’ve found it endearing where Stiles found it embarrassing and gave his dad a fond, familiar smile with the handshake. “Nice to see you again, Sheriff. It’s been a while.”

“Yes it has” John said, nodding, his expression more wistful and a little sad. “Nearly three years. You look good, haven’t aged a day.”

“You too, John” she said, smiling in that way she always seemed to: warm and happy with a spark in her bright blue eyes. She turned toward Stiles then. “I’ve been very happy to have Stiles in my class. He’s a natural, just like his mother.”

Stiles ducked his head, uncomfortable with the compliment, no matter how much it warmed his heart to hear it. His father seemed please and even seemed to puff up in pride like he had the night Stiles had won the lacrosse game and called him a hero. 

“I’m not surprised in the least,” His dad said, squeezing Stiles’ shoulder affectionately. “He’s always been more like her than me and personally, I think he got off easy with that. I know she would have been proud.”

“Right, okay, I’m awesome, I get it”, Stiles said, knowing his blush obviously betraying him. “I want some food, how about you guys, you like food?”

“Well, you two should help yourself but I should really go get in there, we’ll be starting any minute now” Ms. Wansley said, smiling at them both as she backed away, giving Stiles’ dad once last glance.“ It was good to see you again, John” 

Stiles’ dad blushed when he caught Stiles smirking at him with his arms crossed after she walked away. “What?”

“Nothing, smooth operator, let’s go get food before I eat my hand” Stiles said, steering his dad where Scott and Isaac where waving them over.

After Stiles had his plate full of little sandwiches, ham rolls and pralines and Scott had gone for seconds, then thirds, they stood and talked for a few minutes. Emily remembered Stiles and didn’t seem to be put off by their last encounter (thank God) but definitely seemed to be into Isaac, which was cool, because Stiles had eyes for someone else. The same someone else he kept scanning the crowd around him for, despite the fact that Derek had told him he wouldn’t be coming. Still, he couldn’t help the jump in his heartbeat when he thought he caught Derek’s thick, spiked hair but it turned out to be some hipster college guy. He petulantly ignored Isaac’s narrowed eyes and Scott’s concerned look.

Before long, the crowd (holy God, Stiles realized, like a hundred people) started to thin out, emptying into the hall where the art show had been set up and Stiles, his dad and his friends followed the flow of people inside. Tables holding canvases and matted works had bordered the walls of the massive space of the multi-purpose center, breaking only for a small stage that had a podium on it. A draped table sat in front of the stage with what looked like a donations box set up on it for the community center. The room was filled with the chatter of what had to be at least a hundred people all talking excitedly until they saw Ms. Wansley step on stage and then the room fell into a hush.

Everyone, including Stiles, smiled along as Ms. Wansley talked about what a huge turn out they’d had and that she’d actually had to call in more food from the catering service so people may have to pay admission now. Then she spoke seriously while still smiling in that way she did about how much she’d loved having her class this past month and how much she hoped to see them again in the following month. After that, she asked for a round of applause for her students before encouraging everyone to enjoy the art and make their rounds. Which was, oddly enough, when Stiles finally relaxed. Again, he realized, it was the anticipation of the moment rather than the moment that had him freaking out.

“Stiles, where’s your stuff?” Scott said, poking his head up above the crowd to as if Stiles’ art had a scent of it’s own. Stiles wondered for a moment if that was possible.

“Dude, stop, you look crazy” Stiles said, elbowing him. “Just chill out, we’ll get there”

Besides, Stiles was still the least bit nervous about his dad and friends seeing his stuff. 

They started at the table just to the left of them and worked their way around the room clockwise. Stiles hadn’t made friends with anyone else in his class besides Derek (and he didn’t really count Paula as a friend considering the fact she didn’t speak to him or even so much as flirt with him) but he was thoroughly impressed with a lot of the art they’d come up with. Stiles loved someone’s reinvention of the tin man in a sketch, using electronic pieces like computers and cell phones in it instead. Scott flipped out so bad over an abstract sketch that created an optical illusion that he was practically yelling.

It didn’t take long before they were at Stiles’ table, as he’d recognized his final project (which was also his biggest) set up against and Stiles was very nearly digging his feet into the floor in anticipation of everyone seeing it. He could see that there was a few people already in front of it, pointing and murmuring but the tension didn’t even go out of him even when he saw their smiles. Finally, he felt his dad pushing against his shoulders and they were all standing in front of it.

Stiles tensed in anticipation but wouldn’t look at any of them until felt his dad’s hand tighten on his shoulder, pulling him closer to his side. Stiles looked over at him and was shocked to see tears in his eyes as he they lingered over all of Stiles’ art. 

Stiles had chosen a couple of different works to be entered into the show, all of them being pieces he was proud of. There was the sketch of the wolf he’d done to start off, eyes bright and stoic standing out against dark fur but then it moved onto more personal things. There was the sketch he’d done of his mother that his father’s eyes were lingering on, her soft smile and fiery eyes seeming alive even on the paper, her dark hair whipping around her face like in the picture Stiles had used as inspiration. 

“She’d be so proud of you, son” his dad said quietly, his voice rough in Stiles’ ear. “I know I am”

Stiles looked away from his dad, swallowing back tears and caught Isaac giving him a heartfelt, teary-eyed look and a nod after staring reverently at the sketch of Erica. Stiles was suddenly starting to feel a little guilty at all the sadness he was causing, but then he remembered what he’d learned over the past month: art was supposed to evoke emotion and thought so he was doing something right. 

Scott’s reaction was one of pure awe and fascination, though, as he stared at Stiles’ final project, the only painting in the bunch. It was also the biggest and most challenging to Stiles, due to the fact that he had to face his distaste for painting to do it. It was very symbolic, just like what he’d done with the sketch of Erica. Two wolves: one raven with bright blue eyes, the other chestnut brown with dark eyes, circling and snapping at one another, forming a cycle that circled the bright disc of the moon. The style with which Stiles had painted it gave the wolves a vicious look and gave the painting a feel of violence and mistrust between them. One look from Scott told Stiles that he understood it and despite the hidden meaning, he loved it.

It was representative of the power struggle Derek and Scott had faced since the beginning of this year and Scott had gotten bitten: the pull of the moon, Derek wanting Scott to join his pack and Scott being an alpha of his own merit. It was also the struggle Stiles found himself in the middle of. Before he had too long to think about it, Scott was tackling him with a hug and nearly sending Stiles toppling over to the ground.

“Dude, you’re so freaking awesome!” Scott yelled in his ear before pulling back and grinning wildly at him. “Seriously, Stiles, I’m so proud of you. You rock at this. I knew you didn’t have anything to worry about”

Stiles opened his mouth to reply but Isaac was stepping in to give Stiles a hug of his own which left him speechless. “Thank you” Isaac said, seriously, his eyes sad, proud and haunting all at once. “Scott’s right, you’re very talented”

“I…” Stiles said, looking between his dad who was still surveying Stiles’ works with pride in his eyes and his friends who were smiling at him. “I don’t know what to say”

Scott snorted, rolled his eyes. Isaac meanwhile, “That’s a first, Stilinski”

Stiles shoved them both onwards toward the next table, saying in a flat voice “yeah, yeah you guys are the best, I don’t know what I’d do without you”

But seriously, he having to stop himself from falling to the floor with relief. He didn’t even care the slightest bit about how anyone else felt about his art (even though it did satisfy him to see people crowding over to his table) as long as his dad and Scott cared. It had surprised him just how much he’d cared about it, especially Isaac’s reaction to the sketch of Erica had taken him off guard. But now, he felt like he could enjoy the rest of the show without needing an oxygen tank at some point.

“Hey dad, you coming?” Stiles said, turning to where his father was still standing at Stiles’ table as others were coming by to look.

“Yeah I’ll be there in a minute” his dad said, waving them on with a wistful smile. “I’m gonna stick here for a while”

Which meant his dad was going to ward off any people that might say anything bad about Stiles’ work but also maybe that his dad was just still floored by Stiles’ abilities. Either way, Stiles followed Scott and Isaac as they made their rounds through the rest of the tables.

A few people had chosen to recreate famous works, doing a not-too shabby job of “Starry Night” and another that Stiles could barely just make out as Picasso’s “The Old Guitarist”. Stiles found himself chuckling along with Scott’s dumb laughter at a painting of a naked woman because he’s still immature and riding a euphoric cloud in the absence of nerves. Which is when he turned and caught a small crowd forming across from them at another table. Stiles frowned and left Isaac shaking his head at Scott who was pointing at the painting and whispering.

Through the crowd, he could make out Ms. Wansley talking to a woman, most likely about the artist, and the rest of the crowd was patrons, a few of them taking photos. Stiles had forgotten that the Beacon Hills Gazette was going to be here tonight and wondered absentmindedly whose art had caused such chatter when he caught the sketch of a Manhattan skyline from an apartment window. His heart started beating into his throat as he pushed his way to the front of the crowd at Derek’s table.

Stiles was awestruck by the detail Derek had put into it and felt some sort of pride welling up in him as he moved from the sketch of the skyline to of what must’ve been the view of the preserve from the windows of the Hale house. It was just trees from the view of a broken window but Derek had managed to make it look somber and sickly, the way he saw the forest; a place of death and decay.

The next was a portrait of a brunette with a mischievous sparkle in her eyes as she looked over her shoulder at the viewer with her middle finger up. Stiles couldn’t help but grin at her and just knew that it had been Laura, the way Derek had remembered her and not the one Stiles and Scott had dug up and blamed Derek for. Stiles winced at that, but let out a gasp when he moved onto the biggest piece that everyone’s eyes were drawn to. Stiles automatically reached up to touch his own face because staring back at him with a distant look were his own eyes on a canvas.

Stiles didn’t even have to second-guess whose they were, he just knew. They were amber brown outlined in black against the rest of the white space on the canvas and Derek had made them warm and bright and beautiful in a way Stiles had always found just ugly and reminiscent of muddy water. They were framed in long, lush lashes that still managed to look masculine yet pretty. Derek had taken great care and detail in making in and Stiles just wanted to know why, and at the same time, he knew. He also knew that he had to get out of there. He had to find Derek.

Stiles was turning to back out of the crowd when he ran into Isaac and Scott, both of whom were gaping at the same canvas Stiles had just been floored by. When their eyes fell on him and their expressions became those of “I told you so” Stiles pointed at them both in a flail and said, “Not one word.”

“How about four?” Isaac said, crossing his arms. “I told you so”

“Ha ha ha ha” Stiles said, mocking him. “Look, I need to go. Scott, can you tell my dad—“

“Yeah, sure, dude” Scott said, already nodding. “Go… get your man, or whatever.”

“Wolf” Isaac corrected, and then thought for a second. “Alpha”

“How about I just go and talk to him, assholes” Stiles snarked, ignoring their snickering and turning to leave.

Stiles’d managed to evade his dad’s eyes as he made his daring escape, being that his dad was preoccupied with gesturing at Stiles’ art with a big grin on his face to some man in a suit. And then Stiles was out in the lobby, the silence stark and much more calming in comparison to the loud buzz filling the room where the art show was held. It cleared Stiles mind a little but only a little because he was definitely freaking out, his mind not being able to fully grasp what that painting was saying to him. Because what was it saying to him that Derek had done a painting completely devoted to Stiles’ eyes.

This was obviously not the freak-out Stiles was expecting to have tonight when he’d been preparing for the art show. He had prepared for his dad to wince at this art and attempt to lie to him. He had been preparing for Scott to try and lie more convincing than that. He had prepared for Isaac to not give a shit about his feelings and tell Stiles straight up that his art sucked. He hadn’t been prepared for the punch in the chest that was seeing his own set of eyes staring pensively back at him. 

Seriously, when had Derek even been able to do that? How had he been able to capture that look Stiles made? Stiles didn’t even remember making that look.

He was relieved to have made it out of the doors of the multi-purpose and down the front steps without anyone stopping him when he heard someone calling after him. He turned and frowned in confusion when he saw Ms. Wansley walking out the doors behind him. She had a relieved and knowing smile on her face that, really, Stiles was tired of seeing on people’s faces.

“You’re going to see Derek, aren’t you?” she said, as she took the steps one by one until she met Stiles at the bottom.

Stiles threw his arms out in a way that he hoped conveyed just how freaked out that she was that everyone just knew that and knew him that well. “How can you possibly know that?”

“That painting?” Wansley whispered to him in a faux-conspiratorial way before laughing. “I knew there had to be some reason he didn’t come back to class and no offense, but you seem like a pretty good reason”

“Thanks” Stiles said, offended but also a little proud he’d pushed Derek that far, in his own little way.

She laughed again. “Well, good luck with everything. I hope you’ll be able to convince him to join my class next month, as well. That is, assuming you’ll be there?”

“Yeah, I will” Stiles said, in response to both questions. “And, can I ask why you’re not scolding me for going after a guy who’s like, 23 and has a criminal record?”

She smirked at him, started to back away. “Stiles, I think we both know your mother wouldn’t care, seeing how grown up you are and how you two look at each other.”

“How we…” Stiles murmured, confused. 

“I’ll make sure to give your father the sugar-coated truth,” she said, waving him off. “Or maybe something a little less likely to give him a heart attack.”

Ms. Wansley gave him one last smile and then left him in confounded silence as he hurried back up the steps, her high heels clacking on the pavement until she was back inside. He stood for a second more before he was off like a shot across the parking lot, heading towards his Jeep. It took him a second, with his hand so shaky from nerves to get the key in the ignition and get it cranked but he finally got the car started and pulled out of the parking lot.

He wasn’t too enthused about the fact that it would be a short drive to Derek’s place because he didn’t have the slightest idea of what he was going to do when he got there. He didn’t know what to say, how to explain to Derek why he’d driven to his apartment once again. To throw in his face that he likes Stiles? Cause in the face of all Derek’s had to deal with involving romance, that would be a pretty shitty move. To accuse him of being a liar? That wouldn’t be true because Derek technically hadn’t said anything at all on the subject of liking Stiles, he’d just avoided him at all costs.

It was crazy to think that just a month ago, Stiles couldn’t stand to be in the same room as Derek because he was just so frustrating, despite the fact Stiles trusted him and thought he was pretty badass. And maybe he was a little terrified of him. But in just a few short weeks, Stiles had managed to dig past the leather and grump and see that Derek was a scared young alpha who’d built a wall of anger and aggressiveness around himself in order to survive. Even to this day, Derek was still scarred in ways that the fire had left no physical mark of.

Stiles had realized not long ago that he trusted Derek with more than his life, maybe trusted him with things a little riskier in some ways.

After a few minutes, he was at Derek’s apartment building once again unsure of what exactly he was doing there but still knowing something had to be done. The elevator ride up to Derek’s loft was filled with a kind of nervous energy different from every time he’d been there, a kind of energy that made his skin feel tight and made him shiver. When he reached Derek’s floor, he lifted the gates and was greeted by the sight of the apartment in near complete darkness. The only points of light were the moonlight coming in through the tall windows opposite Stiles and a warm light spilling from the far left corner of the windows from a floor lamp set up beside an easel.

Stiles grinned when he saw it because Derek painted beside his windows just as his mom had done and just as Stiles did now. He forgot himself, walking over to the painting and found his eyes flitting from the canvas to the view out the window. They were exactly the same, but the painting was of a warmer night under the light of the moon, made it homier. Because that was what this apartment must feel like for Derek for the first time in a long time: home.

He heard the sound of footsteps coming down the spiral staircase and felt his jaw drop at the sight of Derek, shirtless and in sweatpants, his arms covered in streaks of black and yellow paint that he was trying to clean off with a towel. Stiles’ eyes were especially drawn to where a few splatters had made their way onto his bare torso, dangerously close to where his hipbones where jutting out—

“Stiles?” Derek said, genuinely surprised, his eyebrows rising. He pulled an earphone from his ear, which explained how come he wasn’t lurking in the dark when Stiles arrived. “What are you doing here?”

Stiles stammered for a moment, waving an arm toward the painting in the corner before gesturing to the windows. “Uh, nice painting” Stiles said, cleverly, before rolling his eyes at himself.

“Thanks” Derek said, at length, still clearly confused.

“And…” Stiles said, rubbing a hand down his arm. “I really loved your artwork tonight. Especially, the one with the brown eyes.”

Derek stilled, his face blank as he watched Stiles. Stiles tracked the movement of his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed and knew he’d thought correctly. Derek finally nodded, not seeming to take a breath. “Thank you, I’m glad you liked it… it’s one of my favorites.”

Stiles smiled at him and Derek responded by huffing and looking away. “Stiles, listen—“

“No, you listen for once” Stiles said, crossing his arms. “These past few months have been enough to send me screaming to the nearest mental asylum. But I haven’t. I should be dead by now, but I’m not.”

Derek’s eyes were narrowed on him now, trying to see Stiles’ point. Good, he was paying attention. “Why is that, Derek?”

“Do tell” Derek said, rolling his shoulders in some sort of shrug, like he didn’t like where Stiles was going with this one bit. 

“Because you and Scott have saved my life over and over and you and Scott need me.”

Derek looked amused now, “Stiles—“

“Shut up” Stiles said, satisfied when Derek relented. “You trust me. And I trust you. That’s why we know things about each other that no one else does.”

Stiles watched Derek’s smile fade as his jaw started working; his eyes pinned on Stiles like he refused to look away. “I care about you. I think you’re infuriating and cocky and selfless but you’re an asshole at the same time. I think you’re a damn softy sometimes and you’re hilarious because you throw snark back as good as you give it.”

“I think you’re an amazing artist who puts his heart and soul into it” Stiles took a breath, calmed down when he saw how shocked Derek looked, his mouth hanging open just slightly. “And… I think—you’re not there yet—but you’re on your way to being a great alpha in your own right. I think you’ll be a hero. And I care about you. And I think you care about me too.”

Derek took a breath, let it out, “Well yeah, you dumbass. I painted you a painting.”

Stiles scoffed, offended then “Wait, what?”

“Stiles” Derek said, softly, stepping closer to him. “Why do you think I joined the art class?”

Stiles shook his head, absolutely confused. Derek joined the art class because he enjoyed art and he was good at it. He wanted a hobby because there were no teenagers to bite or danger to fight? What difference did it make.

“I did it to keep an eye on you, Stiles” Derek said, his eyes serious on him. “The day after we fought Argent, I went looking for any clues to where he might have gone. Then I caught your smell near the Argent place, bloody and mixed with Boyd and Erica’s smell. And I knew what happened.”

Stiles stepped away from him, swallowing down his panic. “You knew?”

“I did” Derek said, nodding. “And I wanted to make sure nothing like that happened again. I was going to just watch you, listen for your heartbeat but then you caught me that day outside your class…”

Stiles grinned, feeling a little sickness at the thought of Gerard again but a flutter of warmth at Derek’s protectiveness. “Yeah, not your stealthiest moment, dude.”

Derek smiled, just slightly, shook his head at Stiles’ ridiculousness, stepping closer as Stiles took another step back. “You’re an idiot. You’re mouthy, stubborn, sarcastic, annoying at times—“

“Um—“ Stiles began, indignant.

Derek continued walking until Stiles was against the wall, the tall windows to his back, and Derek’s desk on the platform to his left. “You’re human, but one of the strongest ones I’ve met. You’ve got heart and you care about people you shouldn’t, but you don’t give a fuck about that. You’re a hero, already, Stiles. I care about you. A little bit. Or whatever”

“Yeah?” Stiles said, grinning and breathless, as he heard his own words repeated back to him. His eyes locked on Derek’s eyes, bright and open, as they’d never been before. 

“Yeah” Derek said, nearly whispering as he leaned on his hand placed beside Stiles’ head. “I’d be an idiot not to care about you by now.”

Stiles laughed softly, but then it faded, his eyes on Derek’s lips. He felt a sense of déjà vu as he leaned forward and captured Derek’s lips between his own, a tentative hand coming up to rest on Derek’s neck. Derek surprised him by deepening the kiss, letting a deep breath as he pressed their bodies against the brick wall, licking into Stiles’ mouth. It was better than last time by far, the way Derek’s scruff tingled Stiles’ lips, the way Derek’s hands were sliding their way up Stiles’ sides and making him shiver. 

Stiles felt a flush go through his entire body as Derek pulled away, breathing harsh with his eyes closed as he put a few inches in between them. Stiles’ eyes didn’t stray from Derek’s reddened lips and barely restrained himself from leaping forward and going for it again. He’d known this might happen when he’d realized where this was going.

Derek chuckled, shaking his head against Stiles’. Stiles thought the laughter sounded a bit regretful, though. “Would you hate me if we didn’t—“

“If we didn’t take it any further than that for a while?” Stiles finished for him, smiling despite his disappointment. He knew the age thing would be an issue, it’d been one of the things he’d thought of when drawing up pros and cons of dating Derek. He could deal if it meant more time for Derek to heal and more time for Derek to trust him. Derek swallowed, but looked relieved in a way. 

“Don’t worry, I understand” Stiles said, waving him off. “I’m just kind of relieved to know this isn’t one-sided.”

“I’m just not quite ready for… all of this” Derek said, every word coming out of him like a pulled tooth; like it was painful. “Especially since you’re not even eighteen yet…”

“Whoa, like one year from it” Stiles scoffed.

Derek looked pained, started to pull away from him. “Stiles…”

“I promise not to push as long as you promise to be honest with me from here on out” Stiles said, seriously. “That includes when you’re being a overprotective liar.”

Derek winced, but held a hand out. “Deal”

Stiles nodded, took the hand with a smile and slowly reeled Derek in closer. His hands slipped around Derek’s waist until they were pressed flush against each other then. He waited while Derek relaxed, his arms coming to rest around Stiles’ shoulders. Stiles closed his eyes, let out a sigh and laid his chin down on Derek’s shoulder, feeling himself relax, finally. It’d been a long weekend gearing up for the art show and thinking about Derek constantly and he was kind of exhausted. He could feel his fingers settling just above the waistband of the back of Derek’s jogging pants and he let out an awkward cough/giggle.

“Maybe you should go put on a shirt before I start having second thoughts about that deal, dude” Stiles said, meekly, only like half-joking.

Derek snorted but pulled away with an actual grin on his face that had Stiles ready and raring to jump back into another kiss. He restrained himself while Derek walked over to a couch on the other side of the apartment, Stiles sparing a moment to let his eyes linger on Derek’s tattoo and back muscles. Yeah, it was going to be difficult to wait

He laughed to himself, turning to look out the window when his eyes settled on a piece of paper dangling off of Derek’s desk lit by the moonlight. Stiles frowned, walked over to Derek’s desk and picked the piece of paper up.

“Hey Derek, what is this symbol?” he said, holding the paper up as Derek made his way back over.

Derek, who was now wearing a clean dark v-neck and jeans, gave the paper a dark look, took it from Stiles’ hand. The symbol was the same as the one he’d seen in photographs all over his dad’s office, a triangular piece that, now Stiles was here with Derek, looked a lot like the tattoo on his back.

“I’ve seen it all over town” Stiles said, keeping his voice low as he watched Derek’s hardened expression. “My dad has photos of it in his office, thinks it’s some sort of gang here to recruit—“

Derek began shaking his head in disagreement before Stiles could finish and Stiles felt a cold, sinking feeling in his gut that he hadn’t felt in a few months now. Stiles swallowed before he asked the question he didn’t want to know the answer to. The entire last month had been so nice, so normal and pain-free and Stiles just knew it was about to end.

“Derek, what is it?”

“The reason why Erica and Boyd are missing. That symbol was found outside their homes” Derek said quietly, his words broken and chilling in the dark apartment. He glanced up at Stiles with something like trepidation in his eyes. “It belongs to something worse than the kanima. You need to call Scott and Isaac here now.”

Stiles stood stunned for a second. “Call Scott and Isaac? Why? Is everything okay?”

Derek gave him a sardonic grin as he walked around to his desk. “Trying this new thing called honesty. It begins with filling you all in on what I’ve learned.”

“Right, honesty” Stiles said with a snort, turning away from him to make the call. “It looks good on you, gotta admit”

As the phone rang, Stiles couldn’t stop his heartbeat from picking up at the thought of what was to come. After all, in the beginning of this all, he’d only had Scott and his dad to worry about but now he had so much more hanging in the balance with Isaac and Derek, one a friend, another something a little more. How much more could they survive, if they’d barely made it through the kanima and the werewolf hunters alive?

But when he felt Derek’s hand reaching from behind to settle over his heart, Derek’s body pressed against Stiles’ back, he felt himself pushing those thoughts away. He felt stronger, safer and more assured that they could do this. They would face whatever was coming and they would win.

They’d have to.

“Stiles?” Scott answered, finally. “Is everything okay? Are you and Derek—“

“Scott, you and Isaac need to get here right now” Stiles said, his voice as steady as he felt with Derek’s hand around him. Stiles let his own hand wander up to wrap around Derek’s before taking another breath.

“Something’s happening.”

****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand *fade to black*
> 
> Obviously, I don't own these characters no matter how much I wish they'd do what I want. All that credit goes to Jeff Davis.


End file.
